


A Speck of Hope

by bluemermaid54



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 69,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid54/pseuds/bluemermaid54
Summary: After being virtually forced back to Hogwarts for his eighth year, Draco finds it increasingly difficult to deal with the reversed prejudice that plagues the grounds. Harry Potter isn't making things any easier.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 121
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This is my first ever Drarry fic and I'm super excited to be posting it up for you guys.

The rain pattered lightly on the window of the Hogwarts express. The sky was dark, so the compartments were brightened with oil lamps. Draco sat with his back slouched, leaning against the window as he listened to the soft pittering and pattering of the droplets. 

He thought about his father, locked away in Azkaban. Sentenced to life, having narrowly avoided the Kiss. Draco wasn’t sure which was a grimmer fortune. 

“ . . . And that’s why it’s ridiculous we have to come back at all. Don’t you agree, Draco?” 

He felt an elbow poke at his ribcage, from Pansy Parkinson who sat next to him. 

“Draco?” 

“Yeah?” 

Pansy sighed, smoothing out her black bob. “Never mind.” 

“Wonder if Potter’s coming back,” said Theodore Nott with a supple amount of distaste, who sat across from him. Blaise Zabini sat on the other side of Pansy, and Greggory Goyle sat next to Theo. 

“Probably has loads of job offers,” mused Pansy. “I’d bet my entire inheritance the minister’s already primping him to take his place.” 

“Why he’d want to come back for NEWTs is beyond me,” Blaise agreed. 

Draco remembered the surge of dread that had coursed through his stomach like a churning river the day his letter from Minerva McGonagall arrived, requesting him, though rather impersonally, to return to Hogwarts to complete his education. His mother had happened to be in the kitchen with him when his owl had arrived with the parchment, and had leaned curiously over Draco’s shoulder to see who had written to him. 

Draco knew it was only because he hadn’t heard from any of his friends save for Pansy the entire summer. Whether it was because they had been giving him “space” or been afraid to contact him at all, he wasn’t entirely sure. 

But when Narcissa saw the letter was from McGonagall, the decision had been made. Draco was to return to school, and face the entire eighth year population who utterly despised him. 

“He’d have a fat lot of nerve showing up here to complete his degree when the rest of us actually have to work for ours, not that he would know anything about working for what he’s got,” snarled Pansy. “He’s had everything handed to him on a silver platter since he was a boy. Isn’t that right, Draco?” 

“Hmm?” 

Pansy looked closer at him. “You seem in a bit of a mood today.” 

Draco shrugged noncommittally, securing his mask in place. “Just tired.” 

Either Pansy was satisfied with the half hearted excuse or did not feel the urge to question him further, for she dropped it and turned to chat with Blaise instead. 

Suddenly, the door to their compartment slid open. 

“Excuse me, is there room in- Oh, never mind.” 

Draco, Pansy and the others were face to face with none other than Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter. 

They stood to greet their rivals. As Slytherins, they unanimously agreed they wouldn’t allow the Gryffindors the physical upper hand. Draco set his face in a hard sneer to hide his fluttering nerves. 

“Saint Potter,” he spat, as though the name itself disgusted him. “How timely of you to grace us with your presence right after we just got comfortable.” 

Blaise snorted. 

Piercing green eyes narrowed at him, scrutinizing him. Draco fidgeted under the harsh glare. Potter almost seemed to be looking _through_ him, as though he could see through Draco’s carefully built up calm facade. The thought made him extremely uncomfortable. 

He found himself taking in Potter’s appearance in greater detail. Broad shoulders, dark brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been tamed in weeks . . . Had the boy ever heard of a comb? Instead of robes Potter wore slacks and a red button down that revealed the mildly impressive state of his build. He’d filled out nicely, Draco noticed. Summer must have treated him well. Of course it had, he’d been showered with affection and praise from only the entire wizarding world and all his friends and those blasted Weasleys. Wait a minute. Why did he care at all what Potter looked like? What concern was it of his whether Potter’s summer had treated him nicely? 

Nice to know one of them had had a fulfilling summer. 

“Clearly this compartment is full,” Potter said coolly, eyes never leaving Draco’s. “We’ll be going, then.” 

Without another word, he led the blood traitor Weasel and the Mudblood away. The door slid shut. Draco almost stamped his foot in outrage. He hadn’t taken the bait! He had just left, left Draco simmering in a pit of his own acidity. 

“That was . . . Interesting,” said Pansy, looking at him in a way Draco couldn’t quite detect. It was the same look she had given him after she’d caught him and Nott practically shagging in a broom closet their fifth year. 

Draco had learned a long time ago he was only attracted to blokes; after the Yule ball their fourth year, Pansy had cornered him into the wall of a deserted corridor and stuck her tongue down his throat, coated with firewhiskey. He had felt nothing, and told her so. At first Pansy had looked slightly humiliated, but after an awkward moment of silence the pair had laughed it off. She confessed she had suspected it for a while, especially since she noticed his gaze never trailed south when she wore revealing outfits. But she had wanted to try. 

Draco could understand wanting to try, and so it didn’t have the slightest impact on their friendship, for which he’d been most grateful. Pansy was like a sister to him. 

“He testified for me, you know,” Draco said quietly. Gasps filled the compartment. Pansy’s mouth opened in shock. 

“For me and my mum.” 

“What?” exclaimed Theo. 

“You can’t be serious,” said Blaise. 

“Bollocks, what on earth for?” asked Greg. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Pansy asked, sounding hurt. “We owled all summer, and you didn’t think it was worth mentioning that Potter spoke for you at your trial?” 

“It’s not a big deal,” Draco muttered, flushing furiously. 

“It is so a big deal!” 

“Potter’s the reason you got off, isn’t it, mate?” Blaise asked him. Draco looked away from his chocolate complexion and back to Pansy, who was giving him another one of her looks. This look more replicated the ones she’d given him during sixth year, when he’d basically withered away before their very eyes and only Pansy had possessed the nerve to confront him about it. 

“I dunno,” Draco said flippantly. “We hired a very good solicitor.” But inside he knew it was a lie. Potter had gone up on that stand and defended Draco for everything. 

He’d defended Draco for the attempted murder charge. Said he’d lowered his wand, and hesitated as Dumbledore had offered him help, and _how had he even been there, anyway? How had he known?_

He’d defended Draco for keeping the Loony girl and the others prisoner. Said that Voldemort had overseen and controlled the entire thing. 

He’d revealed to the court that Draco had failed to identify them in the Manor. Draco had known it was them; he could recognize those green eyes anywhere. Green eyes that haunted him in his dreams, nightmares of fiendfyre licking and lapping at his skin, charring his flesh . . . Green eyes of a shaking body on a broomstick pulling him to safety at the last second. 

Potter had also told the court that Draco had given him his wand. The wand that had disarmed and thereby killed Voldemort. 

If it weren’t for Potter, Draco could be in Azkaban. And yet he couldn’t find it in himself to show the other boy a morsel of appreciation. 

“This changes things,” said Greg. “You owe him, mate.” 

“I do not owe him,” Draco said weakly. 

“Yes, you do.” 

The old Greg wouldn’t have dared argued with Draco. Draco didn’t remember when he had relinquished control over his Slytherin minions, but things certainly seemed to be different now. 

“Just because Draco _owes_ him doesn’t mean he has to be _nice_ to him,” Pansy said. “You can’t undo seven years of blinding hatred just like that.” 

“Speak for yourself; I don’t hate him. He saved our lives, more than once,” said Greg. Draco and Pansy exchanged a look. 

“Greg, you’ve gone absolutely mental,” said Draco. 

Greg shrugged. 

“I still don’t understand what he’s doing back here,” said Theo. “What use could his NEWTs serve him now?” 

“Probably wants to rub it in all our faces that he can come back to school and skirt through his education without a care in the world,” said Blaise scathingly. “Think about it; this is our last hurrah before we’re out in the real world.” 

“I know, it just seems a bit . . . Beneath him.” 

Draco considered Theo’s words. It _did_ seem beneath Potter to return to school for a degree he most certainly did not need. If he could defeat the darkest wizard known to man on more than one occasion, that was more than enough qualification to secure him a spot in the Auror program. What motive could his nemesis possibly have to return to school? 

The rest of the train ride passed with relative ease. Pansy fell asleep with her head nuzzled in the crook of Draco’s neck, and though the position was a bit uncomfortable for him he didn’t have the heart to move her. Resultantly, when the train finally came to a stop he breathed a sigh of relief as he jostled his friend awake. 

“We’re here, Pans,” he said softly. 

Pansy woke up with a groan and stretched her arms over her head. “We’re here?” she asked. Draco had to chuckle fondly at her sleepiness. 

“Yes. C’mon, the others have already left.” 

__________

In the Great Hall, Draco stared in wonder up at the ceiling that revealed dark rain clouds and droplets that faded as they cascaded down to the tables filled with tasty food. He supposed as an eighth year he shouldn’t be impressed by such trivial matters anymore, but he couldn’t help it. The ceiling of the Great Hall had always mesmerized him. He was soaking wet, which didn’t help matters any, and his wand was restricted, which meant he could only perform a small series of charms under certain categories. Why a drying charm fell under the prohibited list was beyond him but rules were rules, he supposed. 

“Pans,” he said quietly, so the others couldn’t hear, “could you dry me? My wand, it’s . . .” 

“Restricted, I know,” she responded. With a swift, wordless flick Draco found his hair to be smooth and dry once again, and the uncomfortable stickiness of his wet robes vanished. 

“You’re a doll,” he told her sincerely, kissing her on the cheek. 

After the sorting and the feast, Headmistress McGonagall spoke her usual announcements to the students. She instructed the eighth years to hang back. Once the students had vacated the Hall, she rose to speak once again. 

“I first would like to thank everyone who contributed to rebuilding the castle. We wouldn’t be open right now for the students without your help.” 

Draco couldn’t have helped, even if he’d wanted to. He’d been on house arrest the entire summer. His mother still had two years left of house arrest. His heart jolted when he thought of Mother. She had slowly hollowed out until there was virtually nothing left of her. Draco worried to leave her alone, and would have stayed home from Hogwarts to take care of her had she not made it abundantly clear he was to complete his education without any argument or complaint. 

“You’re already going to have trouble finding employment, Draco,” she’d told him seriously. “You don’t need another obstacle in your way.” 

“Next,” continued McGonagall, “I would like to announce that we have vacated a spare tower on the right wing for your dormitories and common room. That being said, due to limited space instead of separating you by house we are grouping you all together.” 

A cry of outrage rippled throughout the Hall. McGonagall verbally signaled for silence, in no kind tone. The cries stopped. 

“I understand that some of you are less than satisfied with this arrangement, however it is not only out of convenience for the staff that worked tirelessly to accommodate you but for your own good. Interhouse unity is something that moving forward, I wish to convey only the utmost importance of.” 

More angry whispers. 

“‘Interhouse unity’?” Pansy spat, sounding disgusted. “What is she on, exactly?” 

“Silence,” McGonagall commanded again.  
“Boys and girls will be separated, of course. I’ve allowed you the privilege of deciding for yourselves who rooms with whom, but rest assured if I find that privilege is being abused then I will not hesitate to revoke it and assign you roommates.” 

McGonagall spoke more about the importance of interhouse unity. Apparently since the war was over, now they were all supposed to paint on their happy faces and get along as though the last seven years had never happened. That wasn’t how it worked, in Draco’s book. 

“Your timetables will be passed out tomorrow morning at breakfast,” said McGonagall. “Now your Head Boy and Girl will escort you to your tower, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.” 

“Of course that know-it-all Granger got it,” Draco spat. 

“Not Potter?” Pansy squeaked in surprise. “Who knew?” 

“Surely they offered it to him,” Draco reasoned. “But he must’ve turned it down. 

Must think he’s too good for the position.” 

“I can hardly imagine Potter passing up an opportunity to rub his authority in everyone’s face,” said Pansy. Draco couldn’t exactly argue with her there, so the mystery of why he’d passed it up, if it were offered to him which it most certainly was, plagued him. 

Soon enough the eighth years began walking out of the Great Hall. Draco walked with Pansy at his left side and no one at his right, which was a mistake because someone ran harshly into his shoulder. He winced in pain. 

“Watch where you’re going, Death Eater,” the voice snarled. Draco turned to see the Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley. His eyes widened. He had to admit, he didn’t think Hufflepuffs had it in them. Though, he supposed with a fit of self-loathing, for him anyone could make an exception. 

Draco had to physically keep himself from flinching at the name-calling. He dug his nails into his palms, _hard_ , until he felt crescent moon indents. 

“Fuck off,” said Pansy crudely. 

Finch-Fletchley laughed. “You can’t touch me, Malfoy. What’s Daddy gonna do for you now that he’s locked away in Azkaban, huh?” he taunted, lip curling up in a cruel smirk. 

Rage bubbled in Draco’s blood. He lunged for the shorter man, and he felt hands at both his arms holding him back. 

“Don’t you _dare_ speak about my father that way. I’ll kill you!” 

“Draco.” Blaise’s urgent warning sounded in his ear. 

“Calm down, mate. He’s not worth it,” said Greg from his other side. 

“Let go of me. Let me have that piece of Muggleborn filth,” he seethed. 

“You can’t say things like that anymore,” said Greg. “You just can’t.” 

After Blaise and Greg made it abundantly clear that no matter how hard Draco struggled they weren’t going to let him go, Draco sighed and relaxed in their arms. Only when the boys were absolutely certain Draco wasn’t going to lunge for Finch-Fletchley again did they let him go. 

Finch-Fletchley watched the scene before him with an amused smile. “Had enough, have you, Malfoy?” 

He turned around and walked away. 

Greg frowned worriedly at him. “Alright, mate?” 

“Fine,” said Draco flatly. “Let’s just go.” 

Greg and Blaise stayed by his side as the Slytherins quickly caught up with the rest of the group. Luckily, neither Weasley nor Granger had noticed a thing. 

Draco had to admit, standing between two of his closest friends, he felt better with shields. He’d always felt better with shields. He’d used Vince and Greg as shields for years, but for an entirely different reason. Now, the tables were flipped, as the Muggles would say. Vince was no more, he remembered with a curling pain in his gut, and evidently people were no longer afraid of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a little interaction between our boys in this one

Justin Finch-Fletchley’s attack had left him more shaken up than he cared to admit, although Draco wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that aloud. He walked between Greg and Blaise as they chatted amicably about what their schedules would possibly look like now that the professors had an entire extra batch of students to teach. 

“Classes are going to be crammed for the younger years, especially since there’s so few of us taking NEWT classes,” said Theo from Greg’s other side. Draco smiled with pride. _He_ was one of the few who would be taking NEWT classes. But then he remembered the disappointment on his father’s face as he came in second to Granger year after year, and his smile swiftly faded. 

“You’re taking all NEWTs, aren’t you, Draco?” Theo asked him. 

Draco smirked. “I know you’re not.” 

“Smart arse.” 

Soon the group reached the tower, and Draco was left panting for breath with the many stairs they needed to climb. House arrest had done nothing to help his physique. He was thin and lanky, and had practically no muscle on his bones. It didn’t help that he hardly had an appetite these days, either. 

Once they reached the top, Hermione told them all the password to the common room, and led them inside. 

The room had high ceilings and was adorned with several portraits, with a soft beige rug and loads of plush armchairs and couches. And, of course, a fireplace. Draco had to admit, it didn’t look half bad. 

“The girls are on the west, and us lads are on the east,” said Weasley, leading the group with Potter by his side. Potter and his stupid red shirt that showed off his flawless form and glasses that hid his stupid green eyes and hair that parted just the right way to show off that stupidly hideous scar. 

Draco shook his head, hoping to rid himself of such unexpected thoughts once and for all, and followed Weasley upstairs with the others. Once they reached the rooms, it was a free-for-all. Boys ran up and down the corridor, poking their heads through doors in a feverish search for the biggest room. 

Draco found he didn’t care where he lived, as long as it wasn’t with that cursed freckle-faced Weasel or god forbid Potter. 

The beds were four to a room, which was perfect for his group. They settled in the furthest room down the hall, that Nott had claimed straightaway. 

“I didn’t want to deal with all that fuss,” he said. “No one else who popped their head in here wanted to live with us, anyway, and it’s plenty big enough. We all get on well enough.” 

Draco was quick to sit down on the bed closest to the door. A power move. “This one’s mine,” he said unnecessarily. He felt like he was grasping at straws to control something. 

Blaise chuckled. “Alright, then, mate.” 

Eventually the boys’ trunks were delivered magically to their rooms, and as Draco was unpacking there was a knock at their door. 

“Come in,” called Greg. 

The door opened to reveal Weasley in the frame, carrying a script of parchment supported on a book with a quill. He looked about as happy to see them as Draco felt. 

“What do you want, blood traitor?” Draco quipped. Greg shot him a dirty look, which he promptly ignored. 

Weasley’s face soured even further, if that were possible. For the smallest instance, Draco felt a stab of guilt, which he instantly swallowed down. To be guilty was to be weak, and Malfoys were not weak. 

“Don’t worry, Malfoy, I won’t ‘grace you with my presence’ for long,” said Weasley coldly. “I just need to document who’s living here, for McGonagall.” 

“You’d like a formal introduction, then?” Draco asked, knowing he was being mean but unable to stop himself. “And here I thought that pea-sized brain of yours couldn’t shrink any further-” 

“Draco, will you _quit_ it?” Greg yelled, surprising them all. Draco practically jumped from the force of it. 

Weasley’s eyes widened like saucers. 

Draco immediately felt his face go red. Curse his pale skin! Weasley could see exactly how humiliated he was. And curse Goyle for putting him on the spot like that! Who the bloody hell did he think he was? 

“He’s only doing his job, if you’ll lay off maybe we can finally have some peace and quiet,” said Greg, quieter now. Draco shot daggers at him. 

“I’ll deal with you later,” he snarled. He turned back to Weasley. “I trust you know everyone’s names here, yes?” 

“Uh, yeah. I do,” said Weasley, eyes still wide in disbelief. 

“Get to it, then.” He gestured to the parchment and quill. 

“Y’know, I could assign you a detention just for insubordination.” Weasley tapped the quill on top of the book leisurely. 

Draco swallowed down his nerves. To be assigned a detention by _Weasley_ of all people would be the lowest he could possibly sink. 

Who was he kidding. 

He had already sunk lower than he could have ever possibly imagined. He was now considered the scum of the earth. His kind were ostracized from society. 

If he were being perfectly honest with himself, he wasn’t sure how loyal he still was to his father’s principles. The Muggleborns he’d been forced to torture in the Manor bled the same as he did on that fateful day in the bathroom. But he wasn’t about to let Weasley know of all these doubts he was suddenly having about the kind of person he was, or wanted to be. 

When Draco said nothing, Weasley continued. “So it would probably be in your best interest to listen to your mate and be _nice_. Surely you can manage that, can’t you?” 

Weasley smirked at him as he began writing their names down on the parchment. Draco dug his nails into his palms again. 

“Oh, and one more thing.” Once Weasley was finished writing, he took a step closer to Draco. “Stay away from my friends, Malfoy. They have enough on their plates with the press without you prancing and prowling around to muck it all up. Do you hear me? Stay. Away.” 

He turned around, and with a swish of his robes he was gone. 

“What was that all about?” Theo asked from the opposite end of the room. “I couldn’t quite hear.” 

“Nothing,” Draco said harshly. He turned to look at Goyle. “You humiliated me, in front of Weasley.” 

Greg chuckled, shaking his head in dismay. “You humiliated yourself.” 

“Do you even want to be in our House?”

“Did you even hear McGonagall, or were you too busy wallowing in despair?” 

Draco flinched. Greg’s eyes softened, but his resolve did not crack. “There are no Houses anymore, not for us.” 

“She didn’t mean that literally,” he insisted, feeling flustered for some reason. Like he was no longer on the dominant end of the conversation. The thought scared him. If he wasn’t in charge, he didn’t know what to do. His mates would find him weak, and he couldn’t have that. He simply couldn’t. 

“I don’t know about you, Goyle, but I’m not going to tolerate this inter-house nonsense. We’re Slytherins, and Slytherins aren’t _friends_ with self-righteous Gryffindor prats.” 

“Have you ever considered _why?”_ pressed Goyle, leaning back on the bed next to Draco’s. 

“Why do we automatically dismiss Gryffindors just because they’re Gryffindors?” 

Blaise stepped forward to join the conversation. 

“McGonagall had a point, you know,” he said quietly. “Maybe we’ve been so blinded by prejudice all this time that we haven’t considered people for their character. We’ve looked at people solely based on what House they’re in. Now that we’re looking at it from an outsider’s perspective, doesn’t something seem a little wrong with that?” 

Draco felt his breathing begin to pick up. Goyle, he could handle, but Blaise teaming up with him was beginning to feel like too much. 

“Somebody’s House says plenty about their character,” he managed. 

“Does it really, though?” Blaise countered. 

“Easy for you to say, Draco,” said Greg. “The hat barely touched you before it told you Slytherin. Do you remember how long it took for me? Nearly a whole minute.” 

“It’s not our fault you exude every Slytherin stereotype,” said Theo, perched nicely on his bed. Draco almost thought he looked handsome, lying back like a prince, but shoved the thought out of his head. Shortly after their incident in the broom closet, Draco had caught Theo making out with another bloke. He never told him he knew; the humiliation would have been too great. So he just distanced himself the next time Theo wanted something to happen, and it did not take long. 

Draco had needed to physically pry the man from his body, push him away and tell him as kindly as possible that it was a one and done deal. 

Theo caught Draco’s eye, and in one swift motion pulled his white shirt over his head to reveal his tan, toned torso. Draco swallowed thickly. Theo winked. 

“It’s not my fault you’re a walking _arse,”_ Draco retorted. Theo flashed him a smirk. 

“Mate, we’re just trying to say maybe it is in your best interest to lay off the Weasel. He’s Head Boy now, and whether we like it or not he can really fuck us over if he doesn’t like us. Which, he made it clear he doesn’t.” Greg continued unpacking and stuffing his robes into his drawer. 

“Doesn’t sound like that’s all you’re trying to say, what with this inter-house business,” Draco said icily, staring directly at Blaise. Challenging him to defend his notion. 

“I’m saying we need to give people a chance, Draco,” said the dark-skinned man. 

“A chance,” chuckled Draco. “I don’t see them giving me any chances.” 

“I hate to call out the Hippogriff in the room, mate, but you didn’t exactly make the best first impression.” 

Draco glowered. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“I’m not going to argue with you,” Blaise said with a tired sigh. “It’s been a long day and frankly, I’m ready for bed. I’m just trying to warn you that things have changed.” 

Draco said nothing. He knew he was losing the argument, and in it he’d lost the loyalty of not one but two of his mates. He was vulnerable without full use of his magic, and he felt pathetic at even worrying about roaming the corridors alone. But _he_ had put himself here; he’d dug his grave, now he had to lie in it. 

____________

As timetables were being passed out, Draco snuck a glance at the Gryffindor table for a certain green-eyed saviour. Why he was suddenly interested in the welfare of _any_ Gryffindor, let alone his arch-nemesis, he had no idea. 

Potter sat between Weasley and Granger with Dean Thomas, across from Neville Longbottom, Ginny the Weaslette, and Seamus Finnegan. Potter laughed heartily at a joke someone must have just told. He took a sip of what appeared to be pumpkin juice, exposing his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Draco stared, transfixed, a mixture of emotions pooling in his gut. Jealousy, for starters. He didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed, or even smiled, like that. He had friends, sure, but Potter had _family_. 

“Draco?” Manicured nails snapped directly in front of him from across the table, bringing him back to reality. He hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out. He’d been doing that a lot lately. 

“What were you looking at?” Pansy asked him. 

“Nothing,” he said, dazed. He looked down at his plate, no longer feeling hungry. Pansy must have noticed his shift in demeanor, for she said, 

“You’ve hardly touched your eggs. You love eggs.” 

“Not hungry right now, Pans.” He shoved his plate away from himself and slung his bag over his chest. He grabbed his timetable and glanced at the fine writing. 

“Not hungry?” she pressed. “Did something happen last night?” 

“No, of course not,” he lied. “Just an upset stomach, is all. Must be a change in location.” 

“I don’t think that’s exactly how that works.” 

“Sure it is.” 

“What’s your timetable say?” she asked lightly, purposefully changing the subject. 

“I’ve got NEWT potions first, Transfigurations at ten, Astronomy at one, and Herbology at three.” 

“Well, you love potions,” said Pansy perkily, obviously trying to cheer him up. “That’ll be a great way to start your day.” 

Draco couldn’t argue with her there. He did love potions; it had always been his favourite subject. Brewing had always come incredibly naturally to him, and it made it even better that Severus had always taught . . . 

His chest clenched. _Severus_. 

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. “I’m gonna, I have to go-” 

“But class doesn’t start for another thirty minutes,” said Pansy, looking at her enchanted wristwatch, then back up at him, thin, polished eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Wherever are you going?” 

“Getting some air,” he breathed, stepping over the bench and shoving his timetable into his messenger bag. 

“Draco-” 

But he was already making his way through the Great Hall, ignoring the sudden gurgle his stomach made from his negligence to feed himself. But he couldn’t eat. Not when he kept picturing Severus’ ice cold mask over and over again, the stony _“Avada Kedavra”_ and the iron tight grip on Draco’s bicep as he’d pulled him away from the scene. He'd never gotten to say goodbye. 

He burst through the doors, walked down a corridor packed with what looked like first and second-years, if their eager, bouncy prances were anything to go by. Draco vaguely remembered what it felt like to be that care-free. He missed it more than anything. He would do anything to see his father’s rare but sincere smile of pride one more time. Now he would never make him proud again. He had been a complete and utter failure, not to one but both sides of the war. 

His breaths came in harsher. It was like all the air had swiftly abandoned him. He thought about Azkaban, and the dementors slowly but surely sucking the life out of his sickly father. He thought about his mother, alone at the Manor, with no friends or family left to console her. He doubled over, right there, in the middle of the corridor. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t have a meltdown in public. 

With great force he pushed himself up, stuffed his shaky hands in the pocket of his robes, and rushed through the corridor, unbeknownst to the curious glances of the younger students, to get outside. 

His first breath of clean, fresh air rejuvenated him. The crisp, autumn wind filled his body and calmed him once again. He closed his eyes, sighing shakily. He removed his now sweaty hands from his pockets to run a hand through his white-blonde locks. He could breathe again. The weight on his chest was lifted, for now. Any time he felt like he was experiencing a panic attack, he could just come outside, and all would be well. It was that simple. Right? 

“Malfoy?” 

Maybe not so much. 

Draco startled, and turned around to see none other than Harry Potter staring right at him, a least discernible expression on his slightly tanned face. Now that Draco was getting a better look at him, his skin almost looked sunkissed. Whatever Potter was up to this summer, he must have spent a lot of time outdoors. Not Draco; he was locked in his house, rotting away in his room at the mercy of a rare visit and his father’s old book collection to keep him entertained. He understood why his friends hadn’t wanted to see him; he was a traitor to their side, and his house was where Voldemort had resided, after all-

“What are you doing out here?” Potter asked. The question was not harsh, instead curious. It unnerved Draco. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, keeping his tone as casual as he could. He gripped his messenger bag tighter. 

“I like the fresh air,” said Potter, surprising him with the sincerity of the response. “Grounds me, when I feel like all the air’s been sucked outta the room, y’know?” 

Draco opened his mouth wide. Out of all the answers he was expecting, that was the last. 

“Fresh air is pure, unchanging. Plus, nobody comes out here. Until you did.” Potter kept his tone friendly and light. What was he playing at? 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Potter, but this friendly act of yours isn’t fooling anybody,” Draco sneered, crossing his arms defensively. 

Potter narrowed his eyes at him. “Do you mean the way I talk?” he asked coldly. 

Draco nearly flinched from the directness of his tone, how it was pointed straight at him, sharp as a sword. 

Potter took his silence as permission to continue. “Well, excuse me if not every word that comes out of my mouth is unnecessarily foul.” 

Draco frowned, suddenly wanting the friendly Potter back very much. Which confused him, because angry Potter was what he was used to. Was what he was comfortable with. Had something changed? 

“Excuse me if everyone that walks around this school with an indomitable hero complex can only be outranked by the likes of you.” 

Potter’s lip curled into a hurt frown, and suddenly Draco was attacked by an onslaught of guilt. He had caused this; his words had caused Potter to react this way. 

“It’s not a hero complex if you didn’t ask for it,” Potter said quietly, so quietly Draco almost didn’t hear. 

“What was that?” 

“You heard me, you insufferable git.” 

A moment of silence, and then, 

“I always thought you enjoyed being the hero. All the attention, the fame.” 

“People think a lot of things about me, Malfoy.” 

“You . . . You can’t be serious,” Draco sputtered, needing a moment to process this information. Was Potter really confessing to him that he didn’t like being the Hero of the wizarding world? Where anyone would bend over backwards for him, kiss the very ground he walked on, give him anything he wanted at just the wave of a hand? Who _wouldn’t_ want that? 

“Serious as the scar on my head.” 

“So, what is it you want, then?” Draco knew he was treading on thin ice, but he couldn’t help but ask. Curiosity stronger than the very core of his magic compelled him to. 

“Honestly?” Potter looked up at the sky and sighed. He suddenly looked much older. “Some peace and quiet, and a good night’s sleep.” 

Draco’s eyes widened in shock. Here Potter was, sharing private information about himself, details Draco would never dream of sharing with his mates let alone his _nemesis_. This was uncharted territory, and he didn’t like it. 

“Well, that’s too bad.” Draco took a step closer to the other boy. This tall, strong, unfairly handsome boy. Wait, _what?_

“You can have anything you want in the entire world, at the drop of a hat, and you choose a _good night’s sleep.”_

Potter’s face crumpled into an anguished, confused frown. 

“Knowing your crass nobility, Potter, I knew your demands from the wizarding world wouldn’t be as up to snuff as people imagined, but _this_ is just pathetic.” 

Potter’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened in indignation before he clamped it shut again. 

“I actually can’t believe this,” Draco drawled, gesturing to the sky as if it could hear him. “Potter can have _anything_ he wants, and he wants to sleep. Like a little baby.” 

“Stop it, Malfoy,” Potter growled. 

“Adorable, really,” Draco chided with his best sneer yet, the one he reserved just for moments like this when he felt himself getting a little too exposed in front of Potter. “And equally sad.” 

He swirled on the spot and stalked away without looking back to see Potter’s pained expression. 

__________

When Draco arrived at Potions, slightly tardy because he had forgotten a quill, he glanced around the classroom for an open spot. 

He spotted Granger sitting with Longbottom. Who would’ve thought Longbottom was competent enough for NEWT Potions? But here they were. Draco continued scanning the room, and to his horror he found that the only available seat was next to Potter. 

_How did Potter manage to get into NEWTs class, anyhow? He’s terrible!_

Slughorn had always liked him, and Draco had a sneaking suspicion that him being saviour of the world had something to do with it. 

“Mr. Malfoy!” exclaimed Professor Slughorn cheerily. “How wonderful of you to join us, my boy. Here, take a seat next to Harry, I’m sure you two will make the most complementary pair . . .” 

Draco’s heart lurched in his throat. _Pair?_ They had to be class partners? He swallowed and nodded wordlessly at the professor, walking slowly over to Potter’s desk and slumping into the chair beside him. He chanced a glance at his classmate, who did not even look to greet him.

“Excellent. Now, we shall begin.” 

Slughorn droned on for a while about the nature of their class, what was to be expected, and the types of potions they were to be brewing. Draco kept sneaking glances at Potter, who was far too close for comfort. He could practically smell his aftershave, and it was nothing short of intoxicating. He leaned as far away from the man as he physically could. Since when had he begun thinking Potter smelled good? 

Potter didn’t look at him once. 

When it was time to collect ingredients for the potion they were to be brewing, Potter stood up and left to get the items without a word to Draco. Draco knew he deserved the cold treatment, but that didn’t make it any less formidable to endure. 

“Remember, Potter, stir the figs counter-clockwise first, and then-” 

“I know, Malfoy.” Potter still hadn’t looked at him. But nevertheless, he reversed the direction of his stirring to meet Draco’s instructions. 

Draco sat back in his chair. He ended up taking over halfway through the brewing, untrusting of Potter to do a satisfactory job. Potter spoke not a word to him throughout the entire brewing process that wasn’t strictly to do with potions. 

At the end of class, Slughorn walked past their station and smiled. “Great work, boys. You’ve created an exemplary model. Now, remember that once this potion settles it will change from a dark amber to a crystal blue, so do not be alarmed when you come in on Wednesday and see an entirely different-looking brew.” With that, he merrily walked on his way. 

Draco chanced another look at Potter, who had begun packing his things. Granger approached him. Her expression went from soft to displeased when she landed eyes on Draco. 

“Harry, we have Herbology with the Hufflepuffs next,” she said to him as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Shall we walk?” 

“Of course, ‘Mione.” Potter smiled at her. The pair completely ignored Draco as Potter continued to gather his things. Draco stuffed his quill and notebook into his bag, ready to flee the scene. He had ensured that this semester with Potter was going to be a nasty one. 

He kept a safe distance from Potter and Granger as he exited the Potions classroom. He was thinking about meeting Pansy in the common room to study together before their next class when a foot stepped out and tripped him. 

His heart jolted in alarm as his arms reached out unconsciously to brace his fall. He landed on the cold tile with a sickening splat. 

Pain. Pain and laughter. Laughter surrounded him, enveloped him, suffocated him, until all he could hear, breathe, and taste was laughter. 

“Not so tough now, are you, Death Eater?” he heard. 

“They should’ve put you in Azkaban, right with your father.” 

“Rot in hell, Malfoy. You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t deserve to _live.”_

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as pain laced through his hands and arms. But the words hurt more. 

Slowly, he looked up at his attackers. 

Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan and a swarm of Ravenclaws stood over him, smirking as though they’d just won the House Cup. 

“We oughta hex him,” seethed Thomas, looking to Finnegan who nodded in agreement. 

Draco rolled over on his side, cradling his injured arm to his chest. His palm throbbed. When he heard them talking about hexing, he curled in on himself. He had no means of defending himself if it came down to that. 

“He’s not worth it,” said a Ravenclaw Draco recognized but could not name. “Let him stay on the floor; it’s where he belongs.” He leered forward over Draco and promptly kicked him in his side, sending him flying back down. Draco winced as a throbbing pain flared in his side, but he dared not cry out and show weakness. 

“Daddy’s not here to save you anymore, is he, you slimy piece of shit.” 

Draco forced himself to his feet, ignoring the pain. He looked around at the various groups of students, all who had stopped walking to witness the action. To his horror, he saw Potter and Granger sporting small frowns, standing a few rows behind Finnegan and Thomas. 

“Get lost, Death Eater,” Thomas snarled, shoving him back. 

Utterly humiliated, he felt hot tears pool at his eyes once again. He folded his arms in on himself and walked away, holding his head as high as he could. He felt himself tremble as he passed Potter and Granger, whose gazes burned into his back. He didn’t stop until he was storming through the common room of the eighth year tower, pressing his shaking hands hard against his chest. 

Theo and Greg were studying over by the fire. 

“Draco?” 

Oh no, not now. 

“Draco, mate, you alright?” came Theo’s concerned voice. 

“I’m fine,” he growled at the pair, marching up the stairs to the dormitories. 

He attempted to cast a Silencing charm, but then remembered with a lack of light coming from his wand that he _couldn’t_ , and so he threw his wand on the ground in frustration. He drew his curtains, flopped down on the bed, and sobbed into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please lmk if you like this, if you think the characterization is realistic, etc all the good stuff you know what to do


	3. Chapter 3

_Get. Yourself. Together._

He furiously wiped at his eyes. He had handled the Cruciatus curse, the Dark Lord, an entire war for Merlin’s sake, and a couple _Gryffindors_ reduced him to tears? 

Pathetic. 

To make matters even worse Potter had seen it, seen him humiliated. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Angry not because he didn’t deserve the treatment, but because he knew deep down he _did_ deserve it, and there was nothing he could do about it. Draco had chosen his side, this life. It would follow him forever. 

He checked his wristwatch. A quarter past twelve. To pass the time he decided to write to his mother, who would surely be wanting to hear about how he’d settled in by now. He knew it had only been a day, but he was certain she missed him very much. He wrote up in his room, appreciating the privacy as opposed to the noise of the common room filled with people who hated him. 

It didn’t last long. 

The sound of footsteps shuffling drew him from his letter, and Draco charmed his curtains back to see Theo bent over his bed, gathering school supplies. 

“Hey,” he greeted. 

Theo turned around, and smiled warmly. “Hullo, Draco.” 

He resumed packing his bag. 

Draco thrummed his fingers on the parchment. 

Theo turned around and walked toward him. Draco set his letter down on the bed and stood up. 

Once they were closer in range, Theo frowned. That was when Draco realized- he must look something awful. Hopefully his eyes didn’t give him away too much. If they did, he could blame it on missing his mother or something: the easy way out. They all knew he had a soft spot for her. 

“You look a right state,” Theo said bluntly. Draco averted his gaze from Theo’s prying brown eyes. 

“Had a rough morning,” he said to the floor. 

“I heard.” 

Draco’s eyes snapped up to meet his. 

Theo placed his hands up. “Don’t shoot the messenger, mate. It’s the talk of the common room right now; just thought you should know.” 

Draco laughed humorously. “I’m glad to hear it. Genuinely.” 

Theo ran a hand through his thick brown hair. “I actually came up here to check on you, make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m right as rain,” Draco said with a tight-lipped smile. “Gonna take a bit more than that to do me in.” 

Theo frowned as though he didn’t believe him. “You don’t have to pretend with us, you know. We’re your friends. We’re just trying to look out for you.” 

Draco didn’t like Theo’s use of “we.” Implied that they talked about him when he wasn’t in the room. 

“I appreciate it,” Draco said carefully, “but really, Theo, I’m fine.” 

“Very well, then. Off to lunch?” 

Draco had forgotten; the earlier events hadn’t done much to help his appetite. But he had barely had a bite of breakfast, and now that Theo mentioned food his stomach growled with hunger. He nodded. 

As he gathered his materials for Astronomy, he felt a tremor ripple through his body. 

_Last time he’d been at the Astronomy Tower, he had seen firsthand what forced allegiance could do to a person._

_Last time he’d been at the Astronomy Tower, he’d felt hope for the first time in almost a year until it crumbled before his very eyes._

_Last time he’d been at the Astronomy Tower, Dumbledore had died._

His hands shook as he packed a notebook, textbook and extra quill into his bag. He had to go back and face the tower; face everything he’d done. 

“Alright, Draco?” Theo asked, stepping closer to him. “You’re shaking, is all.” 

He couldn’t exactly spit out he was _fine_ when he was bloody shaking, well could he? 

“It’s just . . .” He sighed, deciding it would be easier to tell Theo than lie. “I have Astronomy next.” 

Theo’s face darkened. “Draco . . .” 

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted quickly. “Really. It’s just . . . A lot.” 

“Draco, surely you could write your professor a note if you aren’t feeling up for it. Or speak to Headmistress McGonagall.” 

“Theo, I can’t exactly just skip class left and right because ‘I’m not feeling up for it,’” Draco said. 

“I know, but it’s your first day back. Everything’s so fresh; surely they’d understand-” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Draco slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’m going, and that’s final.” 

Theo sighed. “Alright, if that’s what you want.” 

The two boys exited the dormitories and walked through the common room. Draco couldn’t help but notice the glares and hushed whispers cast his way. 

“Ignore them,” Theo murmured in his ear. “Let’s go.” 

Once Draco and Theo reached the Great Hall, they plopped down next to Greg, who sat across from Pansy and Blaise. 

“Hey,” greeted Pansy, mouth full of meatloaf. Draco stifled a snort. 

“So lovely of you to join us,” Blaise said. 

Pansy took a closer look at Draco, then frowned. “Sweetie, you’re white as a sheet. What happened?” 

“You didn’t hear?” Blaise asked her. 

Pansy shook her head no. “I had double transfigurations. What’s up?” 

“Well, uh-” 

“Dean Thomas tripped me.” Draco set his bag down on the floor and helped himself to a modest portion of meatloaf. 

Pansy gasped. 

“Or, at least I think he did. Either him or that Seamus Finnegan. And now everybody’s talking about it. They were the two standing closest to me when I looked up, so.” 

“Draco, that’s awful, I’m so sorry. Those blasted pricks.” 

“Still all for ‘inter-house unity’?” Draco asked drily. 

Pansy frowned. “Hey, I was never for it.” 

“That wasn’t a matter of House,” said Blaise. “That was prejudice. They’re assuming things about your character and categorizing you as inherently evil based on your status and title. That’s exactly the thing inter-house unity tries to avoid.” 

“You can’t honestly sit here and tell me that none of that had anything to do with their House,” said Draco. 

“I honestly can. Because it didn’t.” 

“So they’re prejudiced because of my status as a Death Eater.”

“Exactly.”

“But you’re not one anymore,” said Greg. “And you did things to directly defile the Dark Lord.” 

Draco remembered what happened all too well after he’d directly defiled the Dark Lord. After he had failed to name Harry Potter and his friends, the Dark Lord had dragged him down into the dungeons, where he’d tortured him with Cruciatus for what felt like hours and hours. He’d screamed himself raw, every synapse in his body on fire. White-hot pain had clawed at his skin, seeping into the very marrow of his bones. When it was done, Lucius had levitated his limp, lifeless form and dropped him surprisingly gently onto his bed. Draco had been in and out of consciousness as Lucius had laid him down, but he could have sworn he’d felt the slightest touch of a hand to his forehead, only for a moment. 

“Either they don’t know that or they don’t care because he hasn’t made amends to them personally,” said Blaise. 

“Oh, they can sod off,” said Pansy with a wave of her hand. “They can’t expect him to apologize to every single person in the castle.” 

Draco had been raised to believe that apologies were a sign of weakness. That a simple “I’m sorry” was as useful as taping shattered glass. 

“You got off free for a reason,” Blaise told him. “You wouldn’t be sitting here with us right now, eating lunch, if you didn’t deserve it.” 

Draco felt another pulling in the pit of his stomach as he thought of Potter. He thought of Greg’s words. _“You owe him, mate.”_

That was it! If he could get out of his debt to Potter, he would be free. He wouldn’t feel this tug of guilt on his chest every time he thought of the green-eyed brunette. He would just need to find a way to repay him. 

“I’m indebted to Potter,” he said aloud to the group. Pansy’s eyes widened, and Greg nodded grimly. Theo looked appalled. 

“You most certainly are not,” he insisted. 

“Oh, but I am,” Draco responded wistfully. “He saved me, at my trial. I don’t think I’d be sitting here with you all right now if it weren’t for him, so I need to do something to repay him so I can be debt-free once again.” 

Draco wasn’t sure if it was about being debt-free again as much as it was about getting Potter face to face and just _talking_ to him, but he wasn’t about to tell his friends that. Wasn’t about to tell his friends how just for a brief moment, he and Potter had been civil, before he’d ruined it like he’d ruined everything else. 

After the group ate, Draco slung his bag across his shoulder once again. They all rose to leave, and Draco’s shoulders bumped with Theo’s momentarily. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Theo asked him lowly, knowing where he was going. Draco nodded, throat suddenly feeling too tight. 

“Where are you going?” he asked Theo. 

“I’m off to the library. I’ve a free period.” 

“And where are you headed, love?” he asked Pansy. 

“Ancient Runes.” 

“Brilliant, that’s on the way to Astronomy. We can walk together.” 

The group exited the Great Hall and went their separate ways to classes. Draco and Pansy chatted amicably on the way to Astronomy with their arms linked. Draco was reluctant to let her go once they reached her corridor. He really did enjoy Pansy’s company, and he hoped that she realized that even if he wasn’t always the best at letting it on. 

As he drew nearer to the Astronomy tower, his heart thumped heavier and heavier in his chest. He could do this. It was only one class. Surely he could manage for one bloody class. 

Closer. 

His heart beat faster. 

Closer. 

His fingers trembled. Pin pricks and needles thrummed through the tips of his hands, slowly making their way upwards, numbing him. He clutched his bag. He couldn’t feel it. 

Faster. 

He thought of Severus and Dumbledore and the Death Eaters jeering at him _finish the job, you spineless coward,_ and Harry Potter defending him at his trial and the Dark Mark permanently etched into his left forearm, how when the Dark Lord had burned it into him he had screamed and screamed and screamed until multiple sets of hands had held him down, and he’d slipped under the blissful grace of unconsciousness. He thought of Dumbledore’s gentle, pleading tone, words of encouragement, words of _help_ , that he’d thrown away like they’d meant _nothing_ . He couldn’t breathe because he’d had a chance, a chance to escape to the light, and he’d tossed it aside because he’d been _afraid_. 

Water rushed through his head and spots danced across his vision as he slid down the wall and buried his face in his knees, gasping and clutching for any burst of air he could manage. It felt like someone had dropped a boulder on him, and he couldn’t for the life of him muster the strength to throw it off. 

He struggled to remember the techniques his mother had taught him when these had started. 

_Breathe in as slowly, deeply and gently as you can, through your nose._

_Breathe out slowly, deeply and gently through your mouth._

_Count to five on each in, and each out._

Draco realized he was panting for air through his mouth and closed it promptly, closing his eyes. He lifted his head and leaned it back against the stony wall, breathing in heavily through his nose. He let it out much too quickly, desperate for another. 

_Count to five_ , his mother’s calming, gentle words echoed in his ear. So he tried another, this time holding it in for a few seconds before slowly releasing the breath out his mouth. The stone grew heavier. It wasn’t working, it wasn’t working-

He thought of Potter. Somehow his mind conjured up the image of Potter standing at that podium, defending him at his trial. The last turn of events he’d ever expected, but with his next breath in, he was able to count to five, hold it, and then release without any problem. He felt absolutely insane, that he had lost his mind. Now his mind had resorted to thinking of Potter during his panic attacks. Just bloody brilliant. But he couldn’t argue it was working, so he accepted it and continued to breathe in deeply, counting to five and letting go through his mouth, until he regained feeling in his hands and fingers. He clutched his messenger bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

“Draco?” 

He jumped in surprise. Theo approached him with a look of pure worry plastered on his face. Draco wanted to shrink into the wall. 

“Theo?” he asked hoarsely, startled by his sudden and most untimely arrival. “What are you doing here?” 

“Looking for you. You clearly weren’t ready for class, judging by the state of you.” 

“You clearly don’t need to be rubbing it in,” Draco said weakly, feeling put under a spotlight all of a sudden. 

Theo reached out a hand for him, and pulled him up in one swift motion. Draco staggered on his feet, clutching Theo’s hand for support. 

“Woah, easy. Okay. I’m taking you back to the tower so you can rest.” Theo let go of him once he was sure Draco could stand on his own. “You can walk, right?” 

“Yes, I can bloody well walk. I thought you were going to the library.” 

“Had a hunch. Can see I was right.” 

“Congratulations,” Draco muttered half-heartedly. 

“It wasn’t something I wanted to be right about.” 

The two boys set off back for the tower, which was on the opposite side of the castle. Draco normally loved Theo’s company, but under such circumstances he wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to tolerate him for such an extended walk. 

“Do you know what triggered it?” Theo asked him, and Draco slowed down his pace to look him in the eye. The only reason Theo even knew about these attacks was because he’d been the one to calm him down in sixth year. 

“Dumbledore. Severus. Everything.” 

Draco realized _everything_ was the answer for more than half his triggers lately, and he knew that couldn’t be a good thing. For the first time, even since Narcissa had suggested it, he considered getting help. 

“Everything . . .” Theo shook his head. “Merlin, Draco. You say everything, and yet you managed to work yourself out of it, by yourself. How’d you do that, anyhow?” 

Draco’s heart flipped. 

“I thought of my mother,” he lied quickly. “She’s used to calming me down from them, and the sound of her voice always soothes me. Especially when she sings to me.” Well, that part was true. 

“How very . . . Tender.” Theo smiled at him. “Tell you what, mate. Let us take you out this weekend. I’m sure that will lift your spirits some.” 

Draco returned the smile, appreciating the offer of kindness. “That’d be great.” 

They reached the dormitories, and Theo began rearranging the contents of his bookbag once they were in their room. 

“Well, I’m off to the library,” he said. “Are you okay now?” 

Draco was sick of people asking him if he was okay. 

“Yes, I’m okay. Thank you.” He also didn’t have the energy to be sarcastic right now. 

Theo smiled, though it didn’t have any light in it. “Alright, Draco. I’ll see you.” He left the room without another word. Draco headed to the communal bathroom. He desperately needed to splash some water on his face, which was still covered in a thin sheath of sweat. 

He found Potter standing in the sinks, staring at his reflection. For a moment Draco almost chuckled to himself because the scene was nearly perfectly parallel to when Potter had barged in on him while he was having his breakdown. 

Except it didn’t look like Potter was having a breakdown. Potter, unlike some people around here, namely _him_ , seemed to have his shite together. Potter was simply just standing and staring, and after a moment Draco began to get concerned. Who just stood in a mirror and stared at themselves, unless they were doing grooming such as combing their hair or choosing an outfit? Potter appeared to be doing neither of the two, so what was his excuse? 

Potter must have seen him, for he turned around and stared Draco down scathingly. 

“Is there something you need, Malfoy?” he asked, sounding exasperated. Like he was speaking to a child. 

Draco had to bite his tongue from saying something nasty. Potter just got under his skin so _easily_. He supposed it was also a force of habit, although that didn’t make it any more acceptable. 

“I was only coming in here to conduct my business as usual and then leave. Nothing special,” he said, voice sounding strange to his own ears. 

At that, Potter turned around and faced him head on. “Well, then,” he gestured to the loo. “Have at it.” 

Draco realized that this was a perfect opportunity to pay Potter back for the debt he owed him, and he had the perfect idea. 

“Hex me, Potter,” he said, as casually as one offered a coffee. 

Potter arched an eyebrow. The gesture was unfairly attractive. “Excuse me?” 

_Are you deaf, you oaf?_ Draco didn’t ask. Instead he said, “You heard me, Potter. Hex me. You have my permission. I won’t duck away. Or tell McGonagall.” 

Potter looked at him as though he had grown two heads. “You’re mad,” he said, decidedly. “You’ve actually gone mad. Shall I get Madam Pomfrey, have her take a look at you?” 

Salazar, the lad actually sounded the smallest bit concerned. Draco realized he was going to have to play the part a little bit harder if he was going to get what he wanted. 

“Potter, I owe you for what you did for my mother and me at our trials. And I know you’ve always wanted to hex me, Godric knows I’ve always wanted to hex you, but I won’t, because my wand’s restricted so I’ve no ways of defending myself or retaliating at you, even if I wanted to, which I don’t, because this is my payback to you, so if you’d get on with it, that would be splendid.” He sucked in a breath after that ridiculous rant that probably would just make Potter question his sanity even further. 

Sure enough, Potter’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed. 

“You want me to hex you . . . As payback?” 

Draco sighed in frustration. Why couldn’t Potter ever make anything _easy?_

“Yes,” he said with great difficulty. 

Potter chuckled. He actually chuckled. Draco felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment. Before long, the boy was full on cackling, doubled over in laughter. 

“Is something funny?” Draco asked stiffly. 

“Yes,” Potter gasped, chuckling some more. _“You.”_

“I’m not joking.” 

“I know. That’s what makes you so funny.” 

“So are you going to hex me or not, Potter?”

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No, Malfoy, I’m not going to hex you. You asking kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” 

“I’m giving you an open invitation. You will literally never have an opportunity to hex someone like this again. Let alone me. So I suggest you take it, Potter.” 

“Malfoy,” Potter said, more seriously this time, “I’m not hexing you for some stupid payback that you think is necessary.” 

“Well, what do you want, then?” Draco asked, as civilly as he could manage. 

“Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want anything? That I was just trying to do what was right? Scratch that, has it ever occurred to you that kindness doesn’t have to be transactional at all?” 

Draco stood gobsmacked at the boy before him. He had certainly gotten him there. 

Potter waited for his response, then shook his head when none came. “That’s what I thought.” He began to leave the bathroom, and something deep inside Draco urged for him to stay. 

“Wait!” he called out to Potter’s receding form. Potter stopped, and turned back around, but said nothing. 

“I-I’m sorry.” 

The words were out before he could stop them. 

Potter cocked an eyebrow. “That’s vague.” 

Draco swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry for earlier today, it was-” 

“Rude? Yeah, I got that much.” 

Draco adjusted the strap on his bag before looking back up at Potter. “I was going to say uncalled for, but yeah, rude works, too.” 

Potter scoffed. “How kind of you.” 

He turned around and walked out of the bathroom, leaving Draco alone feeling very, very small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third installment in such a short time, but I wanted to get things up and running for you guys because I typically find it really hard to invest in wips that only have a couple k words. Please lmk what you think and how you like it so far, means the world :)  
> -A


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot thickens. Just a heads up, Harry and Ginny are still together. Wanted to warn you before you dived in. But fear not! I don't plan on keeping them together long

The cackling of the roaring fire did little to soothe Harry’s nerves as he, Ron and Hermione sat around the round, wooden table studying. It was hard to concentrate on studying, however, when it was only the first day, and the excitement of being back for eighth year overpowered Harry’s drive to do homework. 

“You’re not going to believe what happened today.” He set his parchment down on the table and looked up at his friends. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve shagged my sister,” Ron bemoaned, covering his eyes with his hand. 

“No, and that’s already happened. Several times.” Harry smirked, tossing Ron a wink, and Ron glowered. 

“You’re a right prat, you know that.” 

“What happened, Harry?” pressed Hermione. Her curly brown hair was tucked back in a bun, with a few strands hanging loose around her face. She looked rather lovely. 

“Malfoy apologized to me in the bathroom.” 

Hermione gasped. Ron froze, seemingly unsure of how to react. 

“He _what?”_

“The little git. I don’t know what he’s playing at, mate, but I can tell you it wasn’t an apology.” 

“It just caught me really off guard.” 

“What did he apologize for?” asked Hermione. 

“Not much,” Harry admitted. “Only for the way he behaved when we saw each other this morning.” 

“What were you doing seeing Malfoy of your own free will?” asked Ron. 

“It wasn’t on purpose,” insisted Harry, unsure why he suddenly felt such a strong 

urge to defend himself to Ron. “But I was outside because I needed some fresh air before breakfast, and he was suddenly just there. And I tried to be nice to him, but he was a right ponce as usual.” 

“Why would you even waste your energy trying to be nice to him? He doesn’t deserve that,” said Ron. 

“Things are different now, it seems,” said Harry offhandedly. “We fought a war, Ron. I don’t have it in me to be mean anymore.” 

“But he’s the one that was always mean,” Hermione said. “Calling us awful names. He’s always the instigator. It’s about time he apologized for something.” 

“I don’t buy it for a second,” snarled Ron. “That greasy little ferret is playing you like a fiddle, Harry, and next time you’re alone with him he’s going to hex you unarmed into oblivion.” 

“He can’t,” Harry supplied, feeling slightly guilty sharing private information about Malfoy but needing to explain to his friends all the same. “His wand’s restricted.” 

“As it should be,” said Ron. 

Before Harry could respond, he saw Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas stroll through the common room. His hands clenched into fists, and he stood up. 

He had just rejected Malfoy’s apology in the bathroom. So why was he so angry? He began walking toward the pair. 

“You saw the look on his face as he tumbled to the ground, right?” asked Seamus. Dean sniggered. 

“You should’ve seen his face when I said we’d hex him. Guess Malfoy isn’t so tough without his bodyguards.” 

“Hey.” 

Harry’s harsh tone stopped both boys and abruptly halted their discussion. 

“Harry, mate, we tripped Malfoy today. We actually tripped him. Little prick went down like a log,” said Seamus. 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the pair. “Why?” he asked coldly. 

“Why?” Dean parrotted. “Why _not,_ is the better question.” 

“He was going about minding his own business, and you tripped him,” Harry said flatly. 

“Are you defending him?” asked Seamus. “Do you remember what he did in the war? What You-Know-Who did to Neville’s parents? He fought for that monster.” 

“I know exactly what Voldemort did to Neville’s parents, and I know what he did to mine,” Harry said icily. Seamus and Dean flinched at the name. 

“So, all the more reason to see him as the Death Eater scum he is. Because that’s all he’ll ever be,” said Dean. 

“He deserves to rot in Azkaban with his father. They both should’ve gotten the Kiss,” hissed Seamus. 

Harry suppressed a shudder. He knew all too well the sensation of a Dementor, and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. 

“Nobody deserves the Kiss,” Harry said. 

“Mate, I dunno what you’re getting at, but Malfoy is a walking piece of shite who deserves to die in Azkaban, and yet he’s here with all of us. And we’re supposed to treat him as though he’s some sort of equal when he’s anything but.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest after he finished speaking. 

“I know he’s done some awful things, nobody’s denying that, but, Dean, if you go around tripping people that makes you a bully just like him.” 

“So you admit he is a bully,” said Dean. 

“I’m admitting that he has faults, as we all do.” 

“I’m sorry, Harry, but _joining_ the Death Eaters, being branded by You-Know-Who’s clan, and fighting alongside the people who nearly destroyed our world is a little over the line of ‘having faults.’”

“I understand, guys, really, I do.” 

“It sure doesn’t seem like it,” said Seamus. 

“I-” 

“You don’t think he deserves to be in Azkaban, do you?” pressed Dean. 

“I don’t-” 

“You _defended_ him at his trial.” 

“Because I didn’t think he deserved to die!” 

The outburst silenced several groups of students throughout the common room, but Harry didn’t find himself the least bit embarrassed. 

“Alright then, Harry,” Dean said, sounding resigned. “You got what you wanted. He’s back. Just, when he starts plotting to take us all down, don’t say we didn’t warn you.” 

“He can’t,” Harry found himself saying before he could stop himself. “His wand’s been restricted.” 

Only after he spoke did he realize the grave mistake of uttering those words. 

Seamus and Dean lit up like Christmas trees. 

“His wand is _what?”_

“Restricted.” Harry gulped. No use trying to hide it now. “It’s restricted.” 

“Wow.” Seamus looked rightfully pleased. 

“Good to know, Harry.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder. 

“You’re a mate, y’know that?” Seamus beamed. 

Without another word, the pair spun around and were off. 

Harry sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. What had he done? 

__________

“No one’s in the girl’s dormitories right now,” Ginny said huskily against his mouth, outside the Gryffindor common room. Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, tightly, and pulled her in for another searing kiss. Ginny melted into the embrace, hands reaching up to cup Harry’s cheeks. 

“Is that so?” he asked mischievously. 

“Mhm.” She pressed kisses into the curve of his jaw. “Do you wanna-” 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over her stomach and down to cup her crotch, squeezing. “Yeah, I do.” 

The events of today had left him nothing short of rattled, and Harry needed a most welcome distraction. If plowing Ginny Weasley into the mattress was that distraction, then so be it. Not to mention, they were supposed to be dating. Key word supposed to be. Lately, Harry hadn’t been so sure of his feelings toward the red-head. That spark he used to feel when they kissed had all but diminished. When they touched, he often found himself wishing it were over. Not that Ginny ever pushed him into doing anything he didn’t want, but Harry simply didn’t know how to communicate to his girlfriend that their sexual activities weren’t pleasing him anymore. 

Ginny mumbled the password to the Fat Lady, and the two stepped inside, holding hands as they passed through the strangely vacant common room save for a couple students lounging by the fireplace. 

“No one’s here,” Harry commented curiously. 

“All the younger years have an assembly,” Ginny said, leading him upstairs. 

“Where’s _our_ assembly?” Harry asked. 

“They must’ve thought we were too old for such nonsense,” Ginny chided. Once they were in the safe confines of the dormitory, Ginny led Harry by the hand to her bed. She sat down, and swiftly removed her top. 

Harry realized that he wasn’t even halfway hard. What was the _matter_ with him? Was the stress of Malfoy apologizing and confusing him by said apology too much for him? If anything it should have had the opposite effect. Harry should be _aching_ to get inside Ginny by now. 

“Harry?” 

Ginny’s concerned voice brought him back to reality. “You alright?” 

“I’m great,” Harry said, stroking a hand up Ginny’s stomach to cup her breast. Ginny sighed. She leaned forward, pulling Harry back onto the bed with her, and brought him in for a kiss. His lips lingered on hers before he parted away, placing his hands on either side of her body. 

Normally in this stage of their lovemaking, Harry would tell Ginny how beautiful she was or begin whispering other compliments and praise into the supple dips of her curves. Now, leaning over his supposed girlfriend, his _topless_ girlfriend, he didn’t feel a thing. 

“You sure?” she whispered, sounding vulnerable. She reached up and smoothed some of his hair away from his face. It fell right back into place when her hand moved down to cup his jaw. 

“Positive.” He leaned down to kiss her, and to his horror she reached down with her free hand to palm him. When she felt nothing, her mouth froze against his. Harry immediately halted the kiss, looking down at her with worry flooding through him. 

“Harry?” 

“Ginny, I-” 

“Lie on your back.” 

“What?” 

Ginny rarely took control during their lovemaking. 

“I said, lie on your back.” 

Harry shifted off her, allowed her to stand up, and did as he was told, cock twitching in interest at Ginny’s domineering attitude. He liked this side of her. 

“Shirt off,” she instructed. Harry removed the white button down with relative ease. Ginny began making her way down his chest, kissing and paying special attention to his nipples, which caused fresh sparks of pleasure to radiate through him. 

“I wanna ride you,” Ginny murmured against his hipbone as she began fumbling with his belt. Harry sat up to help her, but she gently moved his hands away. 

“Let me.” 

Harry lay back down and sighed as Ginny finally removed his trousers and boxers. The motions felt very robotic to him. It was almost as if Ginny were working an algorithm. 

She shimmied her skirt down her legs and stripped herself of her underwear. 

The last garment of clothing to go was her bra, which she swiftly unclasped. Harry lay back and looked up at the naked woman on top of him. 

Ginny began grinding against his cock, and normally the friction would have driven him wild, but today he felt nothing but _blank_ . He put his arms on her hips and guided her, hoping that would stimulate _some_ sort of pleasure, but he felt not even the smallest drop of precome. Ginny stopped her movements, looking down at him with a slightly curious but mostly cross expression. 

“You’re not even-” 

“I know-” 

“Last time it took you ten minutes just to get a semi.” 

“Ginny-” 

“Harry, what is going _on?”_

“I don’t-” 

“No.” Ginny was off him in one fluid motion and bending over to pick up her shirt. She hugged it to her torso self-consciously, as if now she were afraid of Harry seeing her naked. “I can’t- I don’t _understand-”_

“It’s not your fault, love,” Harry tried, but Ginny was having none of it. 

“Don’t _love_ me, Harry. Apparently it’s too much to ask why my boyfriend doesn’t want to make love to me. I must be so unfuckable, huh?” 

“Ginny, no, that’s not what this is about,” Harry started feebly. 

“Then what is it about?” Ginny fixed him with a firm expression that made him tremble under its wrath. He felt scrutinized, as though she were crawling under his skin. Because the truth was, he didn’t _know_ what it was about. He was too afraid to explore that thought path. All his life, he thought he’d been attracted to girls. He didn’t quite think it was fair he was being blamed in this situation when his body was reacting involuntarily. 

“Exactly,” she hissed, throwing her shirt aggressively over her head and hastily stepping into her skirt. “I’m gonna need some time.” 

“Ginny, don’t leave. Please. We need to talk about this.” 

“Well, you just made it perfectly clear there’s nothing to talk about,” the red-head said icily. “You can see yourself out.” 

She turned around, and was gone. 

_______________

“Mr. Malfoy, may I see you for a moment, please?” 

Professor Dawson had approached his and Blaise’s desk in their Astronomy classroom, while they were packing up their things. Draco had managed to make it to class without a panic attack this time, but he knew he wasn’t going to escape the absence unscathed. 

Blaise slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got double Potions. I’ll catch you at dinner, mate.” He turned around and walked out of the classroom. 

That left Draco with the other students filing out of the room, and Professor Dawson. He slowly approached her desk. 

“Mr. Malfoy, may I ask why you weren’t in class on Monday?” Dawson asked kindly. 

“I was ill.” The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue. It was close enough to the truth, anyway. 

“Is that so?” she asked with a frown. “I didn’t receive a note from Madam Pomfrey.” 

“It was just a stomach bug,” Draco said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It passed over soon enough. I was fine by dinner.” 

Dawson smiled warmly. “Well, I am happy to hear your predicament didn’t cause you any serious harm, Mr. Malfoy. That being said, I do not tolerate casual attendance in my classroom. I expect you to be here, and I expect to hear from you if you’re not.” 

“Of course, Professor Dawson. My apologies.” 

She seemed satisfied. “That is all, Mr. Malfoy. You may go.” 

Draco nodded at her and left without another word. 

He barely took two steps into the hallway before hands grabbed him at both his arms, immobilizing him. He struggled in the grip, but the hands were too strong. He cursed his house arrest for having depleted all his physical strength. 

“Let me go,” Draco growled. 

“Bring him this way,” hissed a voice. Draco looked up from his struggling to see that it belonged to Justin Finch-Fletchley. 

“Best if you stop fighting it.” Finnegan. 

“Here, this classroom’s perfect.” Thomas. 

The three boys shoved Draco into the classroom, so quickly he didn’t have a chance to burst past them and escape. Even if he had, it was three against one. He didn’t stand a chance. 

Finch-Fletchley whipped out a wand and spell-locked the door. Draco took a tentative step away from the boys. He was trapped in here, with them, virtually wandless. 

“Scared, Malfoy?” Thomas taunted. 

“Scared that Daddy isn’t here to save you anymore? Or your little cronies? Who were they, again? Crabbe and who else? The fat one?” 

“Wait a minute, I think Crabbe is dead,” said Finch-Fletchley. 

“Oh.” 

Thomas and Finnegan whipped out their wands and pointed them straight at Malfoy. Finch-Fletchley followed suit. 

Draco would not beg. He would not reduce himself to a sniveling, cowering mess. He would take the hexing with dignity. 

“Do your worst,” he sneered, almost perfectly concealing the tremor in his voice. 

“You hear that, boys?” Finch-Fletchley asked, grinning maniacally. “On my count of three. Just like we talked about.” 

Draco backed away again before he could help himself. The trio only followed him to maintain the same space between them. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, if you guys won’t do it then I will,” seethed Finch-Fletchley. “Stupefy!” 

The spell felt like a boulder had collided in Draco’s stomach. All the air was knocked out of him as he stumbled backwards, staggering on his feet. He gasped for breath. 

“Stupefy!” 

This time the spell knocked Draco completely off his feet, and there was little he could do in his weakened condition to brace his fall as he landed on the ground with a hard thud. A splitting pain immediately exploded in his head. 

Draco couldn’t move. All he could feel was the pain in his head. He groaned. 

“Get up, Malfoy, and fight us like a man.” 

Draco lay unmoving on the floor. His vision swam, and his eyes fluttered closed. 

“Shit, Justin, I think we might’ve really hurt him . . .” 

“Malfoy! Say something!” 

Draco felt hands shaking his shoulders. He blinked his eyes open heavily, and saw the outline of Dean Thomas’s dark frame. 

“We can’t be responsible for your death, so please for the love of Godric, just fucking _say_ something!” Draco felt a harsh, stinging slap across his face. He found he couldn’t even move his hands to touch his face. 

“Guys, we better get out of here,” said Finnegan, though his voice sounded like it was underwater. “We don’t know how long this classroom will be vacant for. Better a teacher find him alone than with us.” 

“Let’s go,” Finch-Fletchley agreed. Draco heard the door unlock, then footsteps as they all briskly filed out. The door slammed behind them, leaving him alone. Draco tried to focus on anything but the pain, but it was impossible. 

He was sure he wasn’t actually going to die; there was no way. So why had the spell hit him so hard, then? 

His eyes fluttered shut again, as the tendrils of sleep began grasping at him. He vaguely remembered that people weren’t supposed to sleep if they had a head injury, but right now he couldn’t find it in himself to care what happened to him as sleep overcame him. 

________________

Theo currently had his tongue stuck down the throat of seventh-year Jackson Holmes, up in the Astronomy tower. 

“We,” said Theo, parting from the other boy, “need to find an empty classroom to shag in.” He planted a kiss on Jackson’s mouth, but Jackson insisted on deepening the kiss and pulling him back in, backing him against the wall and holding him there. 

Theo sighed. He didn’t mind the manhandling, but why were they always so insistent on _kissing_ when they could instead be getting down to business? 

Theo, with some resistance, pulled Jackson away from his mouth again. “If we want any remaining scraps from dinner, we’ve got to cut to the chase.” Theo took his hand and led him through the corridor, up a flight of stairs and around a corner. 

“What about this one?” Jackson pointed to a door. Theo opened it and peered his head inside. Lots of desks to choose from for bending Jackson over, which was perfect. 

“Let’s go.” 

Theo pushed him inside, spelled the door locked, and shoved Jackson up against a wall before pressing his lips against his in another heated kiss. Theo immediately got to work on his trousers. 

“You want me to bend you over one of these desks? Or should we do it right here, right against this wall?” 

Jackson moaned as he began undoing his own belt, sliding his pants down to reveal his bulge. 

“Desk,” he said. 

Theo smirked. “Alright, then.” 

They made their way over to the desks, and as Theo began sliding his pants down, Jackson gasped in horror. 

“Theo! Look, over there!” 

Theo looked, and saw nothing. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” he asked, sighing frustratedly. 

“Come here.” Jackson pulled him by the arm. “There’s a _person!”_

Theo’s blood ran cold. “Wait, _what?”_

Jackson tugged him by the arm around another row of desks before Theo saw the pale body stretched out on the floor. He could recognize that mop of blonde hair anywhere. He gasped quietly.

“Oh god.” He was going to be sick. He would kill the bastards responsible for this. 

“That’s . . . that’s my friend.” He said it so quietly, he wasn’t sure if the other boy heard him. 

“Theo, are you alright?” 

Theo ignored him, bending down over Draco’s limp form and lifting one of his too-thin wrists to check for a pulse. He felt the tendons flex under his grip. Gently, he brought the wrist to his ear. 

“He’s alive,” he told Jackson, who sagged with relief. Fumbled encounter forgotten, Jackson and Theo immediately redid their belts. 

“Get me Madam Pomfrey,” Theo instructed, lowering Draco’s unmoving wrist and setting it softly on the floor. 

_“Get_ you Madam Pomfrey? We need to bring him to her, right now. He could have a concussion.” 

“Do you know how to _Levicorpus?”_

Jackson shook his head meekly. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“Well then, we need to find a teacher. Someone!” 

“You go get help, Jackson. I’ll stay here with him. Hurry.” 

Jackson scrambled out of the classroom, and Theo leaned over Draco’s still form, concern growing stronger. 

“Help is coming, Draco. Please stay breathing for me.” He sat down beside Draco, placing a hand on his chest to affirm that his heart was still beating. 

“I’m going to kill the bloody pricks that did this to you with my bare hands. I swear it.” 

Not soon enough Jackson burst through the door with Headmistress McGonagall in tow. Her features crumpled into worry when seeing Draco, lips set in a deep frown. 

“Did you see anybody else here, Mr. Nott?” she asked seriously. 

“No, professor. He was all alone.” 

McGonagall glanced between the two men skeptically. “I’d ask what the two of you were doing fretting about in an empty classroom, but something tells me I’d rather not know. Not to mention, we’ve more pressing matters to attend to, as you can clearly see.” 

She stood over Draco’s lifeless form, pulled out her wand, and whispered, _“Levicorpus.”_

Draco’s body slowly lifted in the air. His head lolled back, and his arms dangled uselessly at his sides. 

“I can take it from here, boys,” said McGonagall with an air of finality. “You best be off to dinner, now.” 

Theo and Jackson knew better than to argue. 

When Theo reached the Great Hall, he scanned the Slytherin table for his friends. He found Pansy, Greg, Blaise, and Millicent Bulstrode all sitting together. Once he joined them, he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Hey, Theo,” Blaise greeted. 

“Guys, I have news. It’s about Draco.” 

Pansy paled. “What is it?” 

“He’s been hurt. I think someone hexed him. I found him in the Astronomy tower in an empty classroom.” 

“What were you doing in an empty classroom?” Pansy asked. 

Theo blushed something furious. “That’s not the issue right now, Pansy!” 

“Fine, I’ll let it go, _only_ because you’re making me worried. What happened to Draco?” 

“He was . . . He wasn’t responding. He was out cold. McGonagall took him to the hospital wing.” 

“We have to go see him!” Pansy shrieked. “After dinner, whoever wants to join me, we’re going.” 

“If I find out who did this to him, I’m beating them to a bloody pulp,” Theo fumed. Blaise placed a calming hand on his shoulder. 

“Easy, mate. That’ll only give them more of an excuse to hurt us.” 

“They declared war the second they laid a hand on him.” 

“That may be true, but if you retaliated you’d be doing exactly what they’d expect you to do. We need to be the bigger person, here.” 

Theo wasn’t satisfied with the explanation, but dropped the matter nonetheless. He was just antsy to get to the hospital and see Draco. 

“Did you know Draco’s wand is restricted?” Pansy asked the group. Theo’s mouth opened in shock. He, for one, had not known. Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, neither had they. 

“Who would hex him knowing he had no way of defending himself?” 

“Pans, I think that’s exactly the reason why many people here would hex him,” Blaise told her gently. 

“But how did they find out?” Pansy wailed. “Draco wouldn’t tell a soul besides us. He was even reluctant to tell _me.”_

“Who else does Draco trust at this school?” Greg asked. “It wasn’t any of us, obviously, because we’re hearing about this for the first time.” 

“I dunno,” said Pansy, twirling with a strand of her sleek, elk black hair. “But I’m going to find out.” 

_______________

Harry sat in the common room with Ron and Hermione, playing a game of wizard’s chess with Ron while Hermione watched in amusement with her Ancient Runes essay out on the table. 

Suddenly, he felt a tap on the shoulder. 

“Harry, mate, a word?” He turned around to find Seamus, Dean and Justin. 

“Sure.” He placed the piece he was about to put on the board down, and rose from his armchair. He shot a pointed look at Ron. “Don’t cheat.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” 

Harry allowed Seamus and the others to lead him over to the section of the common room where they were sitting. 

“Listen.” Seamus’ tone got very serious. “We’ve got some news we think you’ll like, though things did get a little out of hand.” 

“Very out of hand,” said Dean. 

“What are you on about?” Harry asked impatiently. 

“We may of, um, hexed Malfoy into unconsciousness.” Justin ran a hand through his brown curls. 

Harry felt a flare of worry curl in his chest. “You what?” 

“We were only trying to scare him, teach him a lesson. For all the times he’d roam the hallways, surrounded by his cronies, insulting us thinking he was so much _better_ than us. We wanted to show him that nobody’s better than anybody else, that he isn’t worth shite for thinking otherwise.” 

“What did you do to him?” Harry asked slowly, worry beginning to turn into anger. 

“We, um, we stupefied him. Twice.” Dean scratched his head. 

_“Twice?”_

“Well, yeah.” 

“And you’re telling me this why?” 

“We thought you’d be happy to hear, first off,” said Justin. “You’re his rival; thought you’d get a kick out of someone finally putting him in his place, even if things got a little out of control.” 

“Out of control,” Harry said, feeling outraged. “What were you planning on doing, then, exactly? If that was out of control, how did you think that exchange was going to go?” 

Dean, Seamus and Justin all exchanged nervous glances. “We didn’t-” 

“Right, exactly, you didn’t. You didn’t _think.”_

“Harry, we thought you’d be happy to hear. We’re also telling you because we thought you’d back us and shift the blame to whoever the teachers started suspecting. With your word they’d take that person down in an instant.” 

“Why on earth would I do that?” Harry exclaimed. “You think this is some sort of game?” 

“Why are you defending him again?” Seamus asked. “Do you fancy him, or something?” 

Harry felt blush pooling around his cheeks. “I do not.” 

“Then why are you so-” 

“Because it’s just the wrong thing to do!” Harry roared. “I didn’t mean to tell you his wand was disabled; it just slipped out, and you used it against me. Now I’m an accomplice to whatever the fuck it was you did to him!” 

By now, almost the entire common room was staring at him. Ron and Hermione had risen from their armchairs and began approaching him. 

“We didn’t mean to render him unconscious. We thought he’d stagger backwards or something, not fall completely down and hit his head.” 

“What the fuck do you think that spell _does?”_

“Harry.” He felt Hermione’s gentle yet firm grip on his arm. “What’s going on?” 

“We hexed Malfoy into unconsciousness,” said Seamus. “We didn’t mean to, though.” 

“Who cares?” Ron asked incredulously. “The git probably deserved it. He was probably mouthing you guys off, wasn’t he?” 

Justin and Dean exchanged a glance before nodding. 

“He was being a total prat.” 

Harry now had a shred of doubt towards Malfoy. If Malfoy was picking a fight, maybe he _did_ deserve to be hexed. 

“He told us that us lowlife half bloods had no place wandering the halls of Hogwarts,” Justin said. Ron gasped. 

Harry swallowed thickly. “Maybe you’re right,” he said hoarsely. “Maybe he did deserve it.” 

Ron nodded. “Right he did, mate.” 

Justin looked at Harry seriously. “So, you’ll back us, then? If McGonagall questions us?” 

Harry nodded. “I’ll back you.” 

Dean reached forward and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Alright, then. Let’s go to dinner now, I’m starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always appreciated, thank you for reading. See you on the next one.  
> -A


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco talk a little

Images of Malfoy sitting in a hospital bed, in pain undoubtedly, plagued Harry’s mind all morning. 

“Everything alright, mate?” Ron asked him. 

Harry nodded. 

“It’s just, usually Ginny sits with us at lunch, and she’s at the Ravenclaw table with Luna.” 

Harry glanced over and sure enough, there was that bright mop of red hair Harry could recognize anywhere. He sighed. 

“Did something happen between the two of you, Harry?” Hermione asked him. 

“No,” he said a little too quickly. 

“You can tell me, y’know,” said Ron. “I mean, I know she’s my sister but you’re still my best friend.” 

“It’s a little, um . . . personal.” 

A look of recognition appeared on Ron’s freckled face. “Oh. I see.” 

“Honestly, Ronald . . .” Hermione chided. “Harry, what is it?” 

“We had a bit of an . . . Argument.” 

“An argument about what?” asked Hermione. 

Harry felt his cheeks go hot. “I couldn’t get it up for her,” he mumbled into his tea. 

“Oh.” Hermione suddenly became very interested in her treacle tart. 

Ron made a disgusted face. 

“I said it was personal.” 

“You didn’t have to go and tell me you can’t get it up for my sister!” A few heads turned to look at them, and Harry cursed. 

“Could you have said that any  _ louder?” _ he hissed. 

“Harry, sometimes there’s medical reasons for that. Maybe you should get it checked out,” suggested Hermione. 

“There’s nothing _ wrong  _ with me,” Harry said hotly. “I’m just . . . I dunno. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up with her.” 

“You should talk to her about this,” said Hermione softly. “Who knows, maybe she feels like you’re neglecting her. When this is all just a big miscommunication.” 

“But if you hurt her, Harry,” said Ron, “I swear-” 

“I know, I know. You’ll hex my head off.” 

As they ate, Harry couldn’t help but think of Malfoy, alone in the hospital wing with only Madam Pomfrey to keep him company. He imagined how miserable the little twat must be, and in spite of his conversation with Dean and the others last night, he found himself wanting to go see him. 

It  _ was _ technically his fault Malfoy was in this position. If he hadn’t revealed to Seamus and Dean the state of Malfoy’s magic, they wouldn’t have gone to hex him like that. He needed to make amends. They may not be on speaking terms, or anything near friendly, but Harry knew in his heart it was the right thing to do. 

Cooking up a quick excuse, he stood up from the table and gathered his belongings. 

“Where are you off to?” Ron asked him. 

“Library,” he said. “I’ve got a free period.” 

“Oh, I have one, too,” said Hermione. “I’ll come with you.” 

Harry inwardly cursed. 

“Don’t wait up,” he quickly said. “I just realized I forgot my ink. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Nonsense,” said Hermione. “You’ll use mine. I’ve got extra.” 

Harry sighed. He had no choice but to follow Hermione to the library, where they spent their free period chatting and studying. 

He didn’t have another chance to see Malfoy until after dinner that evening. Ron and Hermione were off on a stroll, and Ginny was in the common room studying with Neville and Luna. He headed towards the hospital wing. 

When he arrived, he peeked his head through the large door to see Madam Pomfrey fussing over a patient with short, black hair. Harry’s eyes scanned the room to find Malfoy, but all the beds that weren’t empty had the curtains drawn. Harry supposed he’d have to ask Madam Pomfrey. 

Awkwardly he stepped inside the infirmary, and his shoes must have made some noise because Madam Pomfrey looked up from what she was doing. 

“Mr. Potter! How lovely to see you,” she greeted. “Give me one moment, please.” She returned to business. Harry waited, and once she was finished she walked over to him. 

“Who are you here to see?” 

“M-, uh, Draco. Draco Malfoy.” 

She peered skeptically at him, as though she didn’t quite believe him. 

“The boy’s in quite a bit of a state,” she said quietly. “Came in with a severe concussion. Still a little out of it, though the potions are helping. That crowd of his is a bit of a pain, though, if I do say so myself.” 

Harry chuckled because it felt like the right thing to do. 

“Do you really wish to see him?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Very well, then. Follow me.” 

She led him to the furthest bed down the infirmary, nice and privately tucked away. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Trust Malfoy to receive nothing less than royal treatment even in the infirmary. 

“Mr. Malfoy?” Madam Pomfrey peeled back his curtains. “You have a visitor.” 

She walked away to leave them alone. Harry leaned forward, kneeling down so that he wouldn’t be standing so tall over the other boy. He looked at him, now, really looked at him. 

He had dark rings under his eyes, and his face was pale. The rings, Harry wagered, were damage of a much longer and extensive wound than a simple stunning spell. His usually slicked-back hair fell loose around his cheekbones, and Harry found he rather liked it that way. In spite of Malfoy’s sickly appearance, he looked . . . handsome. There was no other word for it. Although, Harry realized, there was also something distinctly feminine about his dainty, pointed features. 

“Hey, Malfoy,” he said. Wide, silver eyes scanned him, before the face set in its familiar sneer. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked crisply. His voice sounded rough to Harry’s ears, and Harry kept himself from cringing. 

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” 

“You’ve come to check up on me?” 

Harry swallowed thickly. Malfoy looked so helpless, so far from the glowing boy Harry knew he could be. He looked like all the light had been sucked out of him. 

“I suppose I owe you an explanation.” 

“An explanation?” Malfoy looked at him curiously, one hand fiddling with the bedsheets. 

“For what happened to you. I may not have directly contributed, but I still feel responsible.” 

“And why’s that?” 

Harry drew a deep breath. “Because . . . Imayhavetoldthemyourwandwasrestricted.” 

Draco’s eyes, that had previously softened once Harry had begun speaking, hardened once again. 

“I’m sorry, Malfoy.” Guilt ebbed at Harry’s core. 

“Don’t give me that.” Malfoy sat up higher. “I want to hear why you did it, Potter.” 

“I dunno, it all happened rather fast. They were talking about how you were going around planning to hex people, and I just wanted to . . . Nevermind. There’s no excuse. I said it, Malfoy, and I caused you to end up here. And for that I apologize. I just came to do the honourable thing and let you know personally that you wouldn’t have been attacked if it weren’t for me revealing that personal information. That’s all I’ve come to say.” 

Malfoy gave him an indiscernible look. “You wanted to stick up for me.” 

“I suppose I did,” Harry said with a shrug, feeling his cheeks heat up. His eyes averted to the floor, and then back up to Malfoy, whose gaze had softened. 

“Didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Before Harry could respond, Malfoy winced and pressed a hand into the side of his temple. 

“Does it hurt?” he couldn’t help but ask. 

“Sort of. More like a dull ache now. I’m leaving first thing in the morning.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Yeah.” 

Harry sighed. Looking at Malfoy’s pitiful figure, he felt compelled to ask. 

“Why’d you do it, Malfoy?” 

Malfoy raised a dark blonde eyebrow. “Do what?” 

“Pick a fight with Dean and Seamus. Why?” 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you talking about?” 

“They told me when they hexed you, you had called them half-blood filth. Any of that ringing a bell?” 

Malfoy began shaking his head back and forth. “No, no, I didn’t-” 

“I understand not wanting me to find out, seeing as I’m the ‘saviour’ and all, but are you really going to sit there and lie to me?” 

“I’m not lying,” Malfoy said through his teeth. 

“Why should I believe you over Seamus and Dean, who’ve had my back for years?” 

Malfoy flinched like the words had physically hurt him. His mask slipped, and for a moment Harry could see the vast amount of pain that resided in those silver eyes. 

“Potter, I’m not going to say it again. I’m not lying.” 

“So I’m supposed to just believe that you didn’t antagonize Seamus and Dean, after they tripped you? It would be so like you to want to one-up them.” 

“Contrary to popular belief, Potter, I don’t actually hate everyone in this school.” 

“Is that so?” Harry asked. “How about Ron and Hermione, do you hate them?” 

“No,” Malfoy said quietly, so quietly Harry almost didn’t hear. “I don’t.” 

“You don’t?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Why not? You’ve only treated them with all the respect of the dirt under your shoe for the past seven years.” 

Malfoy sighed, and his body sagged into the pillows. Harry briefly wondered if this conversation was tiring him. But he realized that even if it were, he did not care. The longer he talked to the blonde the more curious for answers he became. 

“Weasley infuriates me,” he said. “That I will admit. And Granger infuriates me, too, because I’ve come second to her every. Single. Year.” 

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. Here Malfoy was, making him  _ laugh _ . What a strange turn of events. 

“That’s only fair, I suppose. But why do you hate Weasley? And don’t say you don’t, because I’m not quite sure I’ll believe you yet.” 

Malfoy avoided his gaze. “Because he’s a blood traitor.” 

Harry startled. Was Malfoy really going back to that? Weren’t they beyond that? Had they not just won a war that abolished that? 

“I’m sorry.  _ What _ did you just say?” 

“He’s a blood traitor.” Malfoy’s voice was ice cold. 

“Alright, then.” Harry stood up. Malfoy’s eyes widened. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Anywhere but here.” 

“Wait!” 

Harry turned back around, saw that Malfoy was sitting up higher on his pillows. 

“What could you possibly have to say to me after calling my best friend a blood traitor?” 

“I-I didn’t, I didn’t mean . . .  _ Fuck.” _

“You didn’t what?” 

Malfoy rubbed the back of his head, wincing as though he were in pain. Harry had a sudden urge to grab Madam Pomfrey, though he had no clue why. He was supposed to be angry at the boy, not concerned for his well being. 

“Well, spit it out.” 

Malfoy placed his hands in his lap. “Weasley’s got something I don’t,” he said quietly, looking down at his bedsheets. 

Harry wasn’t sure what to have expected, but  _ that _ certainly wasn’t it. 

“I’m sorry? Are my ears deceiving me? Am I hearing  _ the  _ Draco Malfoy say Ron’s got something he doesn’t? And what might that be?” 

Malfoy spoke so quietly Harry had to lean in to hear him. “Family.” His voice broke on the last syllable. He looked up at Harry then, silver eyes soft and full of longing. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen the other man so vulnerable, not even when he’d barged in on him crying in the bathroom in sixth year. Tears only conveyed so much; that one, simple word, said so much more. 

There was nothing to be said; Harry understood, and he had a sneaking suspicion Malfoy knew he understood. So Harry stood there, nodding at Malfoy, and they let a silent but not entirely uncomfortable moment pass them. 

“I never thanked you,” said Malfoy, startling Harry from the blissful quiet. 

“For what?” 

“For saving my mother.” 

“I owed her,” said Harry. “She saved me first.” 

Malfoy tensed up in his bed, eyes widening. “What do you mean?” 

“After I died, when Voldemort and the others came back to the castle, he asked her to examine me to ensure I was really dead,” Harry said, scratching at his ear. He knew this was sensitive information, but he’d assumed Malfoy’s mother would have told him. “She asked me if you were alive, which I said you were. She lied directly to Voldemort about me, and we won the battle because of her.” 

Malfoy played with the sheets as the little color in his face slowly drained. “I didn’t know.” 

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy was quicker. “Even so, it’s not like you owed  _ me, _ Potter. You saved me and Greg in that fiendfyre, and then you stood up on that podium and saved me again.” 

“I only did what I knew was right,” Harry said as casually as he could. He remembered how Malfoy had looked at his trial: sick, gauntly, as though all the life had been drained from his body. And in that moment, Harry had known that there was no way he could have possibly testified against him. 

Harry realized with a jolt in his chest that Malfoy didn’t look that much better off than he had during his trial, and that the fact that he even noticed at all meant that he was to some degree worried about him. 

“You saved my life, and my mother’s, is what you did,” said Malfoy. “She wouldn’t stop talking about you all summer, you know.” 

“Really?”

“Said I’d be foolish not to befriend you now.” 

Harry almost laughed at the irony. 

Malfoy sighed and sagged into his pillows, eyes fluttering closed. 

“I should go,” said Harry, disappointed Malfoy didn’t tell him the truth about instigating a fight with Dean and the others. He’d pegged Malfoy for many things, but a liar was not one of them. Why had Malfoy started the fight? Was he purposefully trying to harm himself? He considered going to Madam Pomfrey, explaining the situation, but he realized not only was there nothing she could do about it, it wasn’t any of his business. He needed to stop meddling in Malfoy’s affairs; it never did him any good. 

Malfoy frowned. Harry had to have been imagining it. Surely Malfoy didn’t want to keep his company?

“I suppose that would be best,” Malfoy said flippantly. But he didn’t look too happy. 

Harry didn’t like his tone. The outcome of this conversation left him feeling very dissatisfied. He almost felt like Malfoy was hiding something. But it wasn’t his business to pry, so without any further ado he nodded curtly at the other and left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco receives a letter from his mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: For what it's worth, I redid the harry/ginny scene in ch 4 for anyone interested in taking a looksie. I'm assuming if you're at this chapter you've already read ch 4, so if you don't feel like re-reading the scene, I'll give you a brief rundown of what I did: Harry can't get it up for ginny, so they don't make love. that's it. 
> 
> Another note, I also redid a scene at the end of ch 3 to where Harry doesn't accept Malfoy's apology in the bathroom and they don't make up. Clearly it doesn't affect the events of ch 5 that much cause Harry still visits him in the hospital, but I just wanted to put it out there so you know

The first thing Draco thought as he changed out of his hospital pajamas and back into his school robes was that he needed a nice, hot shower. His mind was reeling from the information Potter had shared with him last night. His mother had lied to the Dark Lord. For  _ him _ . 

Draco wanted to desert the grounds and apparate home on the spot, wrap her tightly in his arms and never let her go. 

He’d been a coward during the entire battle, and his mother had been braver everyone else except Potter. Potter and his unruly brown hair and emerald eyes that could light a thousand suns. Draco needed to scrub himself clean of such thoughts, he realized, otherwise he would be doomed. 

Hair damp after bathing, he gathered his belongings from his room. The others had already gone off to breakfast. When he entered the Great Hall, he saw owls flying in with mail. He made his way over to the Slytherin table and found a spot next to Pansy, who instantly began coddling him. 

“Draco, it’s so good to have you back.” She pulled him in for a hug and kissed the crown of his head. Draco’s lips curled up in a small smile as he allowed himself to enjoy the miniscule gesture of affection. Nobody ever hugged him except for his mother. 

“I’d say it’s good to see you, Pans, except you rarely left my side.” 

That earned him a sizable slap on the arm. 

“Fine, be an ungrateful arse.” 

It was at that moment that Draco’s owl arrived with a letter, distracting the pair. The owl dropped the letter onto the table in front of him, and Draco stroked its back affectionately. “Thank you, Azure,” he murmured soothingly as he continued his light, gentle strokes. The owl hooted quietly before flying off. 

Draco unrolled the parchment and began to read. 

_ Draco, darling,  _

_ I hope you are doing well, my love. What I’m about to tell you may shock you, but I urge you not to panic. I managed to pull a few strings and secured us a trip to visit your father. He acquired many favors from people in his line of work. If you do not wish to come, I will not force you. That choice is yours to make and yours alone. But as you know, Azkaban generally does not permit visitors. This will be your chance to say a real goodbye to your father. If it is your studies you are worried about, I have already contacted your professors and excused your absence for one week exactly from today, are you to accompany me. If you choose to come, meet me in Hogsmeade outside our favorite cafe at 11:00 AM sharp. From there we will apparate to Auror Robards’ office, where he will briefly go over the visitation rules with us before we leave. He has agreed to oversee our visit. I know this is all shockingly last minute, my love, but I just want to tell you as your mother it would mean a lot if you were to come. Owl me when you have decided.  _

_ With love,  _

_ Mother  _

He didn’t realize his hands were trembling until Pansy placed a hand on top of his arm to steady him. 

“Draco?” 

He quickly folded the letter back up and swallowed thickly, feeling bile climb up his throat. He thought about Potter up at that podium again, and soon he could breathe again. 

“Mate, you alright?” asked Greg from across the table, sporting a concerned frown. Draco hated all of the attention. He hated that he couldn’t keep his reactions under control, that he couldn’t keep himself together long enough to-

“What’s in your letter?” Theo asked him casually, so casually that Draco almost wanted to answer because he knew Theo wouldn’t hold it against him that he was  _ actually sort of considering his mother’s offer _ . 

“Just Mother checking up on me,” he said, but his voice sounded wrong to his own ears. Pansy frowned. 

“ _ Checking up on you _ wouldn’t leave you looking like that,” she said, and Draco sighed in frustration. 

“Alright,” he conceded. If he didn’t want to make a big show out of it he should have just spoken it outright and told the truth, but since when was he notorious for his good choices? 

“She wants me to come with her to visit my father.” 

Pansy dropped her fork. Theo’s eyes widened. Greg’s mouth plopped open, and he lost interest in his poppy seed muffin. Then the line of questions started. 

“How did she even-” 

“Is that even legal-” 

“Blimey, who’d ever want to go to a place like that voluntarily? Even if it were my own child, I’d say no,” Blaise said darkly. 

“Well, what do you want to do?” Pansy asked him, brown eyes boring into grey. 

“I dunno,” said Draco. “I need to think about it some, if I’m being honest.” 

Though he wasn’t so sure that was the honest answer. 

“What’s there to think about?” Blaise asked incredulously. “It’s  _ Azkaban _ , for Salazar’s sake, not to mention all the awful things that fucking man did to you.” 

Draco felt a white-hot surge of pain in his chest. In spite of everything Lucius had done, he was still Draco’s  _ father _ and the idea of seeing him withering away in Azkaban made him want to crumble into a thousand pieces. 

“I dunno if I can go through with it,” he admitted, picking at his sweater. “Seeing him like that. I doubt he’ll be the same. He may not even remember me.” 

“Don’t say that, Draco. You don’t know if that’s true,” Pansy protested. 

“What does it matter,” Draco muttered with a strangled chuckle. “Eventually, it will be. Fat lot of good visiting him will do.” 

“Your mother will remember,” spoke Theo, casting him a look that Draco struggled to meet. “If not for him, do it for her.” 

Draco couldn’t summon any counter arguments to fire back at him. The conversation slowly died down until Theo, much to Draco’s gratitude, changed the subject to a lighter topic. 

___________

Draco lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His mind was buzzing, thoughts racing. He thought about his mother, alone at the Manor. How a place that used to be a home had rapidly deteriorated into a prison. Memories of Muggleborns shrieking in agony rippled through his mind. His aunt Bellatrix cackling maniacally as her wand quivered with the force of the curse. 

_ He _ had tortured some of those people. He was a torturer. And torturers didn’t deserve second chances. 

“There’s gotta be something on that pretty little mind of yours. You’ve been motionless for half an hour.” 

Theo’s voice from the other side of the room echoed off the walls. Draco wanted to ask him what it was to him how long he’d been motionless for, but knew the jibe would get him nowhere. 

“I think you know.” 

“The choice would be easy, if it were mine,” Theo hummed thoughtfully. Draco chanced a glance over to the man who lay sprawled out on his bed in a position similar to his own. His dark brown hair was messy, and the first few buttons of his white dress shirt were undone. Draco wanted to ask him if he’d just gotten back from a shag, but that would just instigate a flirtatious comment back, and he wasn’t up for Theo’s shenanigans today. Or any day, really. 

“That so?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Well, fortunately for you, the Ministry didn’t decide to make an example out of your family.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic. You got off astoundingly well, considering.” 

Draco tried to come up with a response, but his tongue was tied. He found he couldn’t really argue. How many times was Theo going to catch him off guard today? 

“What’s your point?” 

“You should go.” 

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I know.” 

“So what’s stopping you?” 

“I’m conflicted because I don’t know which is worse: the idea of him remembering me and hating me for letting him down, or forgetting altogether.” The words flew out of his mouth more easily than Draco expected. With just the two of them in the room, it felt like a safe space to talk instead of bottling it all up like he usually did. 

“He doesn’t deserve you, Draco. Not after everything he did. He doesn’t have the right to be disappointed by you.” said Nott scathingly. Sensing Nott’s anger on his behalf made something warm bubble up inside him. He didn’t know what to say, so he swallowed the lump in his throat and let a moment of silence linger over them. 

“Draco?” 

“M’yeah?” 

“You wanna know why I think you should go?” 

“Why?” 

“You need closure.” 

“I’m scared to see him,” he admitted. With that, he realized the choice had already been made. He had known deep down, in the pits of his subconscious, that he was going to go. He just hadn’t mustered up the courage to admit it to himself. 

“I know you are.” 

“I don’t know if I want him to remember me or not, Theo.” 

“That’s completely understandable. If I were in your shoes, I’d be terrified of that exact thing.” 

Draco sat up. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he said softly. 

“You’re strong. Stronger than you know.” 

Draco immediately faced the other way so Theo wouldn’t see the creeping blush emerging on his cheeks. It wasn’t because  _ Theo _ was delivering the compliment, per se, but because he didn’t think anyone had ever told him that before. 

“Don’t hide away from me, I see that smile.” 

That got a genuine laugh out of Draco, and he couldn’t help himself. He turned back over to face Theo, who wore a matching grin. 

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” Draco chuckled, overwhelmed with emotion. With the journey he was about to embark upon. 

“Takes one to know one.” Theo winked at him before rising from his bed and stretching his arms, revealing a slit of tanned skin as his shirt rose. Draco blinked heavily before clearing his throat and sitting up, looking the other way. 

“No need to stop staring. By all means, ogle away.” 

“Oh, you wish, Nott,” Draco snapped, standing up and suddenly feeling extremely self conscious. 

Theo’s expression softened. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean-” 

“Right, that’s the issue with you, isn’t it? You never mean anything you say.” 

“There’s no need to play pretend, Draco. Not with me, I see it in your eyes. You want me.” 

Draco had to stand there and act like he didn’t know exactly what Theo had meant. 

Theo adjusted his collar in front of the mirror as he redid his buttons. Draco watched him. 

“If that’s what you want to believe, I won’t try to change your mind,” he said flippantly. 

“I always wondered why you pushed me away.” Theo fiddled with his green and silver tie. “Why you never gave me a chance.” 

“That’s rich coming from the guy who had his tongue down someone else’s throat the very next week.” Draco slapped a hand over his mouth, as if the action would magically bring the words back into his mouth. Too late. 

Theo froze. His hands dropped to his sides, then he turned to face Draco, eyes wide. 

“You never told me you knew about Jensen.” 

“Does it matter?” Draco choked out, prying and grasping for any defense against the humiliation he could find. 

“Yes, it  _ matters,” _ Theo hissed, taking a step closer to Draco. “It matters very much.” 

Draco’s insides began to freeze over. He took a step backward, his leg hitting the bedpost. He winced in pain. 

“Draco-” 

“I’ve got to go,” he breathed, hurrying over to his dresser and grabbing the first three books he could find. No quill, no parchment, nothing. The walls were closing in on him; he had no time for a sensible escape, only a prompt one. 

“Draco, wait-” 

“No time,” he said weakly, stacking the books and clutching them to his chest. “I have . . . A meeting with Flitwick about my Charms midterm, then I’ve got to go to the library, so . . .” 

“Draco, can we please talk about this?” 

_ No _ . No no no no no no no no. Only bad things happened when Draco was allowed to talk, so to save others the pain he had made the choice of preventing himself from doing so. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll be late for my . . . Meeting.” 

He caught one look at Theo’s tortured expression and pried his greedy, unworthy eyes away before bolting from the room. He walked briskly through the narrow corridor, down the flight of stairs without stopping for a breath, and all the way through the common room. Once he was outside the common room, he leaned up against the wall and breathed heavily. 

Worried that Theo would come after him, he raced downstairs and began bolting at full speed toward the library, determined to bury his head in whatever books his hands had decided to grab until he remembered nothing but their contents. But life had a funny way of pulling twists, for before he reached his destination he collided with a person, which sent him and all his books tumbling to the ground. 

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you coming ‘round the corner, I-” 

Draco could recognize that voice anywhere. It was Potter. 

He looked up into those shimmering green eyes. Potter had stopped speaking once he saw who was before him. 

“Malfoy,” Potter greeted icily. Draco frowned. He picked himself up and gathered his sprawled books. Once his books were back in his arms, he faced Potter. 

“A little common awareness goes an exceedingly long way, Potter.” 

_ “You _ ran into  _ me _ . Nobody informed me people started using Hogwarts as a racing track. Must’ve missed the memo.” 

Draco was speechless. Quite tired of people besting him today, his fist began to shake. 

“Where’re you off to at that speed, anyway?” Potter asked him, sounding genuinely curious to Draco’s horror. 

“Didn’t get enough of stalking me sixth year?” 

Potter rolled his eyes. “I’d actually like to call it concern for the wellbeing of a fellow student but sure, stalking works, too.” 

“Well, let me assure you. Nobody’s wellbeing needs concerning over, least of all mine.” 

Potter shrugged. “If you say so. Makes no difference to me.” 

“Aren’t you the Saviour and all? Isn’t looking out for the welfare of the students sorta your thing?” 

Potter’s eye twitched, but he didn’t rise to the jeer. Instead, he sighed and slumped his shoulders. Draco looked closer at him. The man had shadows under his eyes, and his frown spoke volumes even though his lips were closed. He realized Potter looked like he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. 

Draco was brought back to last week, when he’d teased and taunted him cruelly for wanting a good night’s sleep . . . 

“I’m gonna get a move on, if you don’t mind, Malfoy, so . . .” 

Draco watched in shock as Potter walked away from him without another word. He pressed his books closer to his sternum, ignored the persistent pressure in his chest, and headed off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand the plot thickens (slightly). Please lmk what you think. Thank you for reading!!   
> -A


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and his mother go to Azkaban

The air was harsh and bitterly cold that frosty morning, and Draco shivered as he wrapped his waistcoat tighter against his lithe frame. His wristwatch read 10:55 AM. He knew Narcissa would already be at their meeting place. She was nothing if not punctual. He wondered how exactly she’d managed to get a furlough, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. He wandered through the streets of Hogsmeade and kept his head down to avoid being seen. When he reached the cafe Narcissa was referring to, he put his head up and looked around for her. 

When he spotted a pale blonde braid standing next to Auror Robards, he instantly recognized her. He raced toward his mother and scooped her into his arms, breathing in the scent of her familiar perfume. 

“Draco, my love,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her chest. Draco felt his chest swell up at the surge of affection. His mother hadn’t hugged him like this in quite some time. She planted a single kiss on the top of his head before pulling away from the embrace to look at him. 

Auror Robards, respectfully, turned the other way. 

Her eyes looked practically sunken in, and her pale skin had taken on a grey undertone. Draco realized this would be her only time outside the Manor for a few more years, and she already looked half-dead. 

“Mother,” he sighed, taking another good look at her. “How are you?” 

The question was somewhat rhetorical. Draco wanted to ask anyway. 

“Fine as I’ll ever be. How is school? Getting along well with your friends?” 

Draco nodded. He took one of her bony, delicate hands in his own. 

“I’m a bit nervous. About today.” Nervous was a bit of an understatement, but the confession lightened a weight on his shoulders nonetheless. He felt safe expressing his concern to his mother, for he knew she would never hold it against him. 

“I know you are, sweetheart. Come here.” She pulled him in for an even tighter embrace, and the two of them rocked side to side. Draco clutched onto her as hard as he could, chin wobbling not only from the cold. 

“You’re so brave, my dragon, you know that?” 

Draco’s stomach clenched at her words. He most certainly was not brave, but he didn’t have the heart to argue with her. Instead he sighed against her chest and allowed himself to be held for a few more moments before Auror Robards cleared his throat beside them. 

“It’s 11,” he said stiffly. “Time to go.” 

“Side-along?” she asked, extending her arm. Draco grasped onto her, and the two disappeared from Hogsmeade with a crack. 

They re-appeared outside the Auror headquarters. Not letting go of the other, they walked with Robards inside the building and up to his office. Draco did his best to ignore the scathing looks that were passed their way. 

“Visitation rules are simple,” Robards said flatly, cutting right to the chase. Draco figured he’d spare no time for pleasantries in such company as themselves. 

“You get twenty minutes, all visits are supervised; in this case by myself, and my partner, and you are not permitted to touch.” 

Narcissa frowned, but Draco felt nothing except apathy. He didn’t care that he wouldn’t be able to hug his father goodbye; in fact, he was glad for it. 

“I’ll need you both to sign at the bottom of these consent forms,” Auror Robards continued, shuffling through his file of paperwork and holding up two packets of paper. He handed one each to Draco and Narcissa. Draco flipped through his packet as Robards continued to explain. 

“These are basically stating that you fully consent to the risk of any overexposure to Dementors, and that any injuries you receive on their behalf are not our responsibility.” 

He grabbed a Muggle pen and handed it to Narcissa, who signed briskly before passing it to Draco. Once Draco signed, they returned the papers to Robards who filed them in a separate pile. He found he quite enjoyed the smooth flow of a Muggle pen, and he briefly wondered how many more Muggle items he would also enjoy becoming more familiar with. 

“Now, we can go. We’ll return to the Apparition point outside this building and apparate to Northshore Beach.” 

The walk back outside was silent as it was uncomfortable. Robards made no attempts at friendly talk, nor did Narcissa seem keen on starting a conversation. Draco trailed helplessly after his mother, and once they reached the Apparition point he grasped onto her arm before they disapparated with a crack. 

The roar of the waves filled Draco’s ears, and it was the first thing he registered once they arrived at the overcast beach. Seagulls chirped, and the biting wind churned his blonde hair all around his face and nipped harshly at his sensitive ears. A boat was waiting for them, along with a few other Aurors who had arrived before them. 

“Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy, this is my partner, Auror Goldstein. And this is our shadow, Auror McCain.” 

Once the awkward introductions were complete, the group piled onto the boat, which was powered by magic. Draco sat as close to his mother as he possibly could, leaning into her side. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder. 

The wind was unrelenting, and halfway through their journey it began to sprinkle. Auror Goldstein cast a drying charm over the boat, much to Draco’s gratitude. 

He felt his mother shiver beside him, and he looked at her in concern. 

“Are you alright?” he murmured in her ear. 

“Just fine, Draco.” 

He didn’t push it. 

After what felt like over an hour, Draco began to detect the outlines of an island far off in the distance. 

“We’re getting closer,” Robards said to the group. “Azkaban is enchanted with  _ fidulous  _ to conceal it from Muggle sight. Also has got loads of wards, but that’s a given.” 

The three Aurors chatted during the remainder of the trip, and every once in a while they would cast a glance at the Malfoys even though both of their wands were restricted and they were in the middle of the ocean. 

At long last, after Draco’s ears, hands and feet had gone numb, they arrived at their destination. Azkaban was a giant black tower, and the waves crashing violently onto the sand painted the place in an even more ominous light. Dark clouds hung over the tower, as if it were eternally blocked from receiving any sunlight. Not that the prisoners inside would be exposed to it. 

He thought of his father, deprived of sunlight for the rest of his life. It only just now began to sink in that most likely he would never see his father again after this. 

_ Stay calm. Stay calm _ . He couldn’t afford to lose it, not right now, not like this. It was almost as if Narcissa could  _ sense _ his impending panic, for she was instantly at his side and grasped his shaking hand. 

“Draco, honey.” She stroked his thumb soothingly. “Breathe.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, and looked into her eyes, squeezing her hand. He saw fear swimming in those blue irises, and pain. So much pain. He swallowed. 

“You’re doing the right thing,” she told him. 

He nodded, sucking in a breath. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. 

“Good. Just like that. Keep going.” 

Draco squeezed her hand tighter as he continued to breathe and think about Potter up on that podium, saving him. He settled back down. 

Once the boat was docked, the group one by one filed off and began the walk to the gates. Draco refused to leave his mother’s side. He needed to be strong. For her. He knew this would be an even more challenging visit for her than it would be for him, so it wouldn’t be fair of him to act weak when she needed him. 

They encountered their first pair of guards at the gates, who asked what their purpose was. Robards flashed them his Auror badge. 

“You may come in.” 

The group walked through the poorly-kempt grounds full of dying shrubbery and dark statues. Draco began to feel the presence of the Dementors immediately. First it felt like a wave of cold washed over him, then a sense of dread seeped its way into his bones, liquifying his insides. 

They were  _ everywhere _ . 

Draco clutched tighter to his mother, not remembering until after that he was supposed to be the strong one. She wrapped an arm around his waist and held him close to her side as they walked. He only felt a little guilty. 

Once they reached the doors to the inside, the next pair of guards glared at them heavily, sizing them up. 

“State your purpose.” 

Robards flashed his badge again. “We’re here to oversee a visitation.” 

“Come in.” 

The guard stepped aside, and spelled open the doors. “You’ll go down the hall to the first door on your right, where you will turn in your wands and be patted down. They will help you from there.” 

Robards curtly thanked the man and gestured for the others to follow him. Draco and Narcissa entered the building, which was no warmer on the inside. His teeth began chattering. 

Down the hall they went, and when they arrived at the waiting room the wizard behind the worker desk wore an impassive expression. “Can I help you?” 

“We have a scheduled visitation with Lucius Malfoy,” Robards said to the wizard. 

“One moment, please.” The wizard turned around and walked away from the group. A few moments later he returned with a handful of sheets. 

“And who is visiting Mr. Malfoy today?” 

“His wife and his son,” said Robards. 

“Very well. Mrs. Malfoy, you and your son need to fill these out.” He passed them the papers and a pen. “When you’re done, you will place your wands in this basket and come with me for a pat-down.” 

He gestured to the basket sitting atop the worker desk to the far left side. 

Draco and his mother took a seat in the waiting room, and filled out all the questions the paperwork asked them. Once they were finished, they removed their wands from their pockets and placed them in the bin. Narcissa also removed a small box. Draco lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. 

“These are chocolates,” she explained. “I picked them up at Honeydukes this morning, just in case. Robards was kind enough to let me.” 

Draco’s confusion must’ve shown, for Auror McCain piped in. 

“Chocolates help you if you get too close to a Dementor. They warm you up and bring you back to yourself, or at least they’re supposed to.” 

“Oh.” Draco had never known that. 

Narcissa plopped the chocolates into the bin with their wands, and the wizard came out from behind the desk. “This way for your pat-downs.” 

Draco and the others were led down a dingy hallway to a small room with more waiting chairs. 

“Wait here.” 

A few minutes later, a guard came in to pat them down. Once the pat downs were finished, they were led to an elevator. 

_ Azkaban has a working elevator? _ Draco marveled inwardly. He thought he’d known everything about the wizarding world, but clearly he was wrong. 

“I will escort you to the bottom floor,” said the guard who’d patted them down. “That’s where we keep the war criminals.” 

Draco tried his hardest not to flinch, true as the words were. 

The elevator was none too gentle, lurching them downwards. Draco clutched his stomach, feeling nauseous. Not to mention he was  _ about to see his father _ . 

He chanced a glance over to his mother, who wore a stone cold expression. He could tell she was gearing herself up for the visit, too. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to erase all traces of emotion off his face like she had. 

All too soon they had descended to the bottom floor, and when Draco exited the elevator the stench that hit his nostrils was  _ foul _ . 

It was putrid, like a mixture of piss and rotting flesh. And the noise. The screams echoed in his eardrums, the wails bounced off the walls, and the pounding on the metal bars only heightened his nerves. 

Draco desperately yearned for his mother’s touch right now, but they were well past that. He was on his own now. The guard led them through a corridor of cells, and there were hands gripping almost every single one. Draco allowed himself to be distracted and looked at the haggard, gaunt faces that more resembled animals in cages.  _ This could have been him _ . 

They turned a few more corners until the guard stopped outside of a cell and lifted a chain of rattling keys. It took him a few moments to find the right one, and once he did he opened the cell and gestured for the Malfoys to come inside. 

The smell intensified, and Draco suppressed the urge to wrinkle his nose. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” the guard began coldly, “you have visitors.” 

Draco turned toward the cot against the wall of the dingy cell, and gasped audibly. Any apprehension he had about seeing his father went straight out the window. 

His father lay on the cot, light grey eyes devoid of all emotion. His arms were thin, too thin; he looked like a skeleton. His hair was greasy and matted on top, purple bags sagged under his eyes and his lips were cracked. He stirred slightly at the sight of Draco and Narcissa, but otherwise did not indicate he was aware of their presence. Now all Draco wanted to do was run over there and hug him, in spite of himself and everything that had transpired between them. 

“Lucius . . .” Narcissa ran toward the cot, and Draco followed at a walk. She knelt down before him, grasping onto his hand. 

“No touching,” the guard hissed. Narcissa promptly put his hand down. 

“Lucius, can you hear me? It’s me, Narcissa. And your son, Draco, he’s here, too. Do you remember us?” 

Her voice was light, gentle, soothing. It made Draco sick. 

“N-Narcissa . . .” His hoarse voice cracked on her name. He spoke it less like a greeting, more like a question, like he wasn’t sure who she really was. 

“Yes, darling?” 

“Draco?” he rasped, gaze switching over to his son. 

Draco knelt down beside his mother and looked down at his hollowed shell of a father. “F-Father . . .” The words were out before he could stop them. “I missed you.” 

Lucius’ eyes shifted. He slowly began to sit up in his cot. Narcissa and Draco moved back to allow him some room. Draco convinced himself that was the reason he was doing it, and not because he was afraid of him. 

His father picked at the sleeve of his prison jumper. “Forgive me, it took me a moment to recall . . . Who you were.” Effectively ignoring Draco’s “I miss you.” Draco felt like someone had slammed him in the heart. 

Lucius’ face settled into that steel mask he wore so potently. “How much longer are you under house arrest for?” he asked his wife impassively. 

Narcissa flinched from the cold tone, but answered back just as coolly, “Two years, my love.” 

“And what’s to come of the Manor once you’re released?” 

“The Ministry will seize it, and all of our assets, remember?” 

Lucius’ lip curled. “I see.” 

He turned to face Draco. “And what’s to come of you, my son?” The question was cold, harsh, almost rhetorical. 

Draco visibly flinched, feeling like how he always felt around his father: a spineless coward. 

“Have you found someone to marry yet?” 

Draco gritted his teeth as he shook his head no. Neither of his parents knew he was gay. Lucius scoffed. “I figured as much.” 

Draco swallowed down his anger and folded his arms in his lap. 

“He’s still so young, Lucius, he has plenty of time,” Narcissa reasoned with him. 

Lucius looked like he wanted to press, but he let the matter go. He trembled violently, startling Draco. 

“Father?” 

“They’re coming for me,” Lucius wailed, thrashing on his cot. “They’re all coming, they’re coming.” 

“Lucius-” His mother’s pained tone almost broke him in half. 

“They’re coming!” Lucius screamed, eyes wild. He panted for breath, hands grabbing at the air. 

“Lucius,  _ please-” _

Draco couldn’t bear anymore. He rose and walked back over to the guard and the Aurors, who were standing against the opposite side of the cell. 

“You doing alright?” Auror McCain asked him. He didn’t miss the dirty look Roberts shot his shadow. Draco nodded, folding his arms against his chest. He turned back around and saw Narcissa murmuring slow, sweet nothings to Lucius. He wanted to throw up. 

Eventually, his father quieted back down. Against his better judgment, Draco walked back over to join his mother. The sight of his father turned his insides. His face was whiter than paper and his breaths were coming out harsh and uneven. He looked completely unstable. He didn’t belong in Azkaban, Draco realized with a twist in his stomach; he belonged in St. Mungo’s. 

“D-Draco . . .” his father rasped. Draco blinked back tears and set the mask into place. He’d had a lifetime of practice, after all. 

“You betrayed this family. I know what you did to defile the Dark Lord. You stood in his way, in our way, to greatness.” 

Draco felt the harsh sting of the hurtful words as they washed over him. 

“If it weren’t for you, he would have won.” 

Draco swallowed bile. 

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here, your mother wouldn’t be stuck in a home that’s no longer hers, and you would be . . . Well, I don’t know where you would be, but you were  _ never _ loyal to our cause. I saw it in your eyes. You showed weakness, doing what you did. You’re pathetic, Draco.” 

More hot tears pricked at his eyes. Draco rapidly blinked them away, forcing his chin to remain still and his mouth not to betray his hurt. 

“Lucius, that is quite enough,” Narcissa hissed. 

“You,” Lucius seethed, ignoring his wife and looking straight into Draco’s eyes that he knew revealed everything because the mask was useless; there was no hiding from his father anymore- “are no son of mine.” 

That was the last blow Draco needed to crack. His father didn’t love him. Ever since he was a boy, the one thing he’d always wanted was for his father to be proud of him, to show him that he loved him. It felt like no matter what Draco did, he never succeeded in making that happen. Now, reality had set in permanently: the man whose opinion had meant the most despised him. 

He stood up, arms shaking and eyes wet. He looked at the blurred outline of his father, and was vaguely aware his mother was saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear it. He turned around and walked away from the scene, toward the other Aurors. Once he was out of vision from his parents he allowed his face to crumple, and he put his head in his hands. Tears leaked out from the corners of his eyes. His shoulders trembled from the effort not to make any noise. 

All too soon he felt a hand rubbing at his shoulder, making traces and dipping over his collarbone. 

“Draco, Draco,  _ hey.” _ His mother’s soft, hushed words broke the floodgates and Draco tensed up even harder while he tried to not make it look like he was crying. He failed, of course, and once he felt himself being spun and pulled into her chest, the dam broke loose. He gasped and shook in her grip, fiercely determined not to let his father hear the gross display he was putting on. 

“Shhh, shhh, darling.” His mother tilted his head up and thumbed at two tears trailing down his face. Draco looked at her in wonder. Instead of standing by Lucius, here she was piecing him back together. 

“We don’t have to stay here any longer. We can leave right now. Okay?” 

“N-No, it’s fine. You can say goodbye.” He cursed his voice for wobbling. He’d told himself he’d stay strong for his mother, and here he was breaking down. What a complete and utter disaster he was. 

“Draco. We are leaving now. That’s final.” 

His chest loosened very slightly. 

Narcissa let go of him and walked over to the Aurors. He chanced a glance over at his father, who was exactly as he’d been when they found him: staring straight up at the ceiling, lying down on his cot, unmoving. The sight chilled him to the bone. 

“You still have a little time left,” Auror Robards said to the pair of them. He politely ignored Draco’s tear-stained cheeks. 

“I’m aware, but we are finished.” Narcissa’s cold voice rang through the room, and Draco knew that was also meant for Lucius’ ears. 

Robards shrugged. “Suit yourselves.” 

The guard led them out of the cell. Draco didn’t look back at his father as he walked out. 

As they walked down the hall, the screams seemed to echo louder in Draco’s head than they had on the way there. Moans and wails reverberated off the prison walls, playing like a mantra. 

“It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me,” someone wailed on his right. He stopped. He turned toward the cell, to see a young woman who couldn’t have been much older than he was. The others didn’t notice; he figured he could catch up with them in a moment. Something about this woman made him curious, and compelled him to stop. He wanted to know more. 

“Sir, please, you’ve got to get one of the guards,” the girl pleaded desperately. Streaks of dirt ran down her face. Her black, greasy hair was pulled up into a bun, and her eyes looked haunted. “Please, sir,  _ please _ . They n-need to know. I’m innocent, I swear, I was under Imperius the whole time, they m-made me do it.” 

Draco didn’t know what to say to this girl. There was nothing he nor anyone else could do to help her. 

“I’m s-sorry,” he said, still feeling weak from his breakdown minutes ago. “I can’t help you. I’m so sorry.” 

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but before she could Draco felt a cold dread seep through him again. The cold went inside him, swirling through his body. It was all around him, it was  _ consuming _ him . . . 

He felt his father’s words begin to echo around him again as he sank to his knees and everything went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and see you on the next one   
> -A


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just read.

When Draco came to he was lying on the cold, hard floor of Azkaban, head in his mother’s lap. Her hands tenderly stroked his blonde locks. 

The first thing that registered was how cold he felt. He shivered, blaming it on the low temperature of the room. 

He tried to sit up, but a pair of hands held him down. 

“Easy,” he heard Robards say. Everything still sounded fuzzy to his own ears. “You took quite a fall, you may have hit your head.” 

Draco sighed shakily as his mother continued to card her hands through his hair, hushing him softly. 

“What happened?” he asked, voice coming out small. 

“You were attacked by a Dementor. Which wouldn’t have occurred, had you _stayed with us.”_ Robards sounded incredibly exasperated, which Draco couldn’t fault him for. That was when he remembered the girl. 

“That girl . . . she was trying to tell me something . . .”

“What girl, darling?” His mother’s worried expression appeared upside down over him. He tensed. 

“S-She was saying that she was i-imperiused, t-that she was inn-” 

“Draco, don’t try to talk right now if it’s too hard,” his mother instructed him, sounding worried. 

“I-I-I have to help her.” Draco sat up abruptly, and he was attacked by a wave of dizziness. His mother’s hands reached out to steady him, and he leaned his full weight into the touch. His head fell back onto her shoulder. He groaned. 

“He needs to go to St. Mungo’s,” Narcissa said to Robards. “Look at him.” 

“I’m fine,” he protested weakly. Narcissa shook her head. 

“You’re in no state to be arguing with me about how fine you are,” she fired back firmly. Then she turned her attention back to Robards and his crew. 

“The chocolates. Bring me the chocolates.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“My son’s been wounded by a Dementor; he needs chocolate.” 

“We’re on it,” said Auror Goldstein. “We’ll be right back.” Robards rolled his eyes and looked at McCain. “Stay with them.” 

Once they were gone, Narcissa repositioned them so that Draco lay in her lap once again. 

“Wandering off from us . . . Draco, what were you thinking?” 

“I-I didn’t-” 

“You could have _died_ if we hadn’t seen you about to be Kissed by that Dementor. Do you have any idea how serious this is?” 

“Mum, she needs help. She’s innocent, I know it, I can see it.” 

“Now you’re talking nonsense. I think you might’ve hit your head. I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s for a checkup after this.” 

“I’m not joking. She’s-Wait. Where’s her cell?” 

“We moved you away from that area while the guards took care of the Dementor.” 

“Oh.” Draco felt his body deflate in disappointment. 

Feeling very out of sorts, he continued to lie down and simply breathe and collect himself as his mother stroked his hair. The touch soothed him, backed him down from the cliff his mind had been bent over. 

Next thing he knew, a piece of candy was thrust into his hands. 

“Eat that.” 

Draco obeyed, feeling too strange and foreign to even enjoy the treat. However, he found that after a couple minutes the buzzing in his ears stopped and he could sit up without feeling like he was going to faint. 

“Can you stand?” his mother asked him gently. “I can help you up.” 

Draco nodded, determined not to slow down the group any longer than he absolutely had to, and took his mother’s outstretched hand. Narcissa slowly pulled him up, and he found he could stand on his feet without assistance. He wobbled a little, which worried his mother, but he insisted he was fine. 

“Really, I’m okay now,” he said, though he felt a strange emptiness inside his chest. All the hurt he’d felt at his father’s words had vanished, and been replaced with a sort of void. As though the exchange had occurred in a nightmare instead of real life. 

His mother looked doubtful, but decided to believe him nonetheless as the group set off for the elevator. When they got inside, Draco leaned against the wall, held his mother’s hand and tried not to throw up. 

After they had retrieved their wands and checked out, they walked outside Azkaban and made their way back to the boat. Soon the group was drifting out at sea. Draco found he was quickly overcome by exhaustion, and leaned heavily into his mother against his own will. 

“Draco, darling, you’ve been through an ordeal,” his mother said in soft tones for his ears alone. “Sleep.” 

That was all the permission he needed. 

Much to Draco’s annoyance, his mother insisted on taking him to St. Mungo’s for a checkup after they arrived back to the mainland. All the Healer’s diagnostics came back empty, and they sent him home with a couple doses of pain potion for his headache. 

Once they apparated back to Hogsmeade, Narcissa pulled Draco into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Are you well enough to find your way back?” 

“I’m fine, Mother,” Draco said blankly, not feeling the same surge of emotion he usually did from their hugs. He more wanted to get it over with, she was _annoying_ him for Merlin’s sake-

Narcissa parted from the embrace to scrutinize him. Draco wanted to punch something. 

“Are you-” 

_“Yes,_ Mother, for the love of Salazar, I’m sure.” 

“Okay, sweetie.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” though the response felt more automatic and programmed than sincere. 

______________

Harry spotted his girlfriend reading in the common room, and thought it a perfect opportunity to finally talk to her. 

“Ginny?” he approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her. 

She looked up from her textbook, placing her quill down. Her gaze hardened when she saw it was him. “Harry.” 

He sighed. “How are you today?” 

“The same. My boyfriend still doesn’t want to have sex with me, so that’s nice.” 

Harry ignored the pang in his chest. 

“What, you think I’m going to just let that go?” 

“No, I-”

“So what do you suppose we do? Because this problem is entirely on your end.” 

“I know.” 

“I can’t keep . . . _Throwing_ myself at you, Harry. It’s humiliating. If you want to slow down, I understand, but we haven’t had sex in _weeks.”_

Harry didn’t know how to tell her that he’d hardly noticed, and yet there was also this gnawing ache inside him to be able to perform well for her. Though if he were being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if it was for her. It was more the desire to return back to normal, to be _able_ to if given the opportunity. 

“Gin, I’ve been doing some thinking. I think you’re great; no, I think you’re _wonderful_ , but sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up with you. Something about this isn’t working. I’m not entirely sure what it is, because I know we get on great, so it can’t be our friendship, but-” 

“But you aren’t attracted to me anymore. Is that it? You want a fresh piece of meat?” 

“Ginny, _no-”_

“Harry Potter the Saviour can have any girl he chooses; I’m just Ron’s little sister to you, aren’t I?” 

“That’s not true, either, Ginny-” 

“Then why-” 

“Maybe if you’d stop _interrupting_ me I could tell you.” 

Ginny went stiff as a board, folding her arms across her chest. 

Harry drew a deep breath and continued. 

“You aren’t just Ron’s little sister to me, or a piece of meat. You’re your own amazing, wonderful, _brilliant_ person. I love our friendship. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. You make me so happy, Gin.” 

“But.” 

“But.” Harry scratched his head. “We aren’t working. Physically. Anymore.” 

“I got that much,” Ginny snapped. 

“I wish I could tell you why,” Harry continued. “I have no idea what’s going on with me. But until I figure it out, I think I’m going to need some space.” 

“You need . . . some space,” Ginny clarified, speaking the words slowly. 

Harry frowned. “Ginny, we need to take a break.” 

“So you’re breaking up with me?” 

“Not breaking up with you. A break. They’re different.” 

“How is a _break_ any bloody different from a break-up, Harry?” 

“Breaking up is cutting ties, that’s it, it’s over. A break is just . . . some time apart until I figure out what’s wrong with me and we can fix it.” 

“But isn’t that the point of a relationship?” Ginny asked. “To figure it out together?” 

“This is something that’s my problem and mine alone,” Harry said. “It wouldn’t be fair to drag you into it, make you wait around and suffer while I try to figure out what’s going on. It’s my mess, not yours, Ginny.” 

“See, this is exactly the kind of rubbish that made me both fall in love with you and hate you,” Ginny exclaimed, shaking her head in wonder. “You always put everyone before yourself, to an unhealthy degree. It’s astounding how far you’ll go for someone, for everyone but yourself.” 

Harry flinched from the words; they hurt. But he knew she was right. 

“The war is over, Harry. You don’t have to be everybody’s protector anymore. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” 

“I’m sorry, Ginny.” He smiled sadly. “But my mind is made up. You have needs, and I can’t attend to them. You’re welcome to see other people, or-” 

“Are you absolutely _mad?”_ Ginny exclaimed. “You think I want to see other people? Are you joking, Harry?” 

“Now that I’ve said it aloud, I don’t think I should’ve assumed that you-” 

“Oh, there’s some useful hindsight,” Ginny spat. “Real perceptive, Harry, I’m speechless.” 

“What do you want me to say?” Harry asked. “That I’m so embarrassed I can’t . . . _be_ there for you, in that way, that just the sight of you makes me want to crawl into a hole?” 

“Harry, I didn’t know you felt like that-” 

“That after everything my life could finally be _normal_ again, and now this . . . this _thing_ is fucking everything up-” 

“Harry, that’s not-” 

“That I want more than anything to be able to make love to you, Ginny Weasley, and the fact that I for whatever reason _cannot_ is absolutely killing me?” 

Ginny stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open. Before she had time to say anything, Harry was already fleeing the scene. 

________________

Draco picked at his beans while he listened to Pansy rant about the unfair length of her Transfigurations essay. He’d been avoiding Theo at all costs since their incident last week, but the only spot left at dinner had been next to him. _Great._

“Nice to see you back,” Theo said to him, startling him. Draco forced a smile before taking a bite of his mashed potatoes. 

“How’d it go with your father?” Theo asked through a mouthful of casserole. 

Draco sighed as he chewed. Once he was finished, because _some_ people had manners, he answered Theo’s question. 

“I’d prefer not to talk about it.” 

“Oh.” Theo’s expression morphed into one of concern, but Draco blinked and it was gone. “Okay.” 

That was all that was spoken between them at dinner. 

Later that evening, Draco was gathering his belongings to go to the library. Greg, Blaise and Pansy had already secured a table. He was alone in the room until Theo walked in. 

“Fancy seeing you here all alone.” Theo’s tone was cheeky. 

“Sod off.” 

“Make me.” Theo stood before him wearing that smirk again. Draco turned back around and resumed packing his bag. 

“I’d really rather not.” 

Theo tssked. “You say all these words, Draco, but I don’t think you mean any of them.” 

Before Draco even realized what he was doing, he slammed his bag down on his bed, stepped quickly toward Theo and shoved him into the wall beside the door where his back hit the dresser. 

Theo winced in pain, but that didn’t stop Draco as he looked up at the taller boy. “When are you going to get it, you tosser? I. Don’t. Want. You.” 

Theo looked at him incredulously before he chuckled. He actually _chuckled_ . “You are _marvelously_ good at lying to yourself, Draco.” 

He brought a hand up and rested it on Draco’s racing chest. Draco didn’t stop him or flinch from the contact. 

“You feel that? Under my hand, just there? That’s your heart. And right now, it’s doing somersaults for me.” 

Draco’s breath hitched as Theo’s hand trailed up from his chest, over his collarbone, up his neck, up to his jaw. 

“I’ve thought about you since that night in the broom cupboard,” Theo murmured, thumbing Draco’s jaw and snaking his other arm around his waist, drawing him closer. Suddenly, their chests were flush and their faces were mere inches apart. Draco swallowed a gasp. 

“About the way you felt.” Theo’s hand trailed up his ribs. 

“The way you tasted.” He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. 

“None of it matters,” Draco said thickly, heart rate picking up. “I saw you with Jensen. It doesn’t matter.” 

Theo’s brown eyes flew open. “Draco-” 

Draco felt something dark surge through him. He pushed Theo harder into the dresser, hands grasping at his sternum. “You have some nerve acting like you can . . . Like you can _have_ me whenever you want, when you lost your chance years ago.” 

“Draco . . .” Theo’s voice actually sounded pained. “After Pansy caught us, you ran away. Before we could finish, you ran away. And then we never talked about it. Ever.” 

Draco breathed shakily, hands trembling. 

“What was there to run away from?” he asked, hoping that would be enough to push the other away. 

Theo’s eyes flashed for a second, but Draco was convinced he imagined it was so fast. 

“Tell me to stop,” Theo breathed, so quietly Draco almost didn’t hear. Tufts of air hit Draco’s face one right after the other. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” 

His face was getting closer. Draco, against every voice inside his head, found himself leaning into the contact. Next thing he knew, Theo’s mouth was on his and they were kissing so desperately Draco wanted to leave bruises alongside the other man’s lips. 

Draco felt a fiery wave of possession roll over him, and he kicked Theo’s legs apart. Theo hummed into his mouth, and the vibration was maddening. He tangled a hand in Theo’s thick, long, tamed hair. 

“Mm, Draco.” Theo pulled apart from him, gasping for breath. “How far do you wanna take this?”

Instead of using words Draco placed his hands on Theo’s hips and began steering him towards Theo’s bed. He pushed him down and climbed into his lap, leering over him. 

“I quite like this side of you,” Theo said huskily, bringing Draco down for another kiss. Theo ran his hands up Draco’s back, finding their way inside his shirt. Once they touched bare skin, Draco moaned and arched into the touch. 

“That’s it. You like that?” 

Theo repeated the motion, except this time he brought one of his hands around Draco’s front to reach down and cup his crotch. Draco stiffened as a burst of pleasure flowed through him. He emitted a guttural groan. 

Feeling a surge of power, wiring through him like electricity, Draco pushed Theo down until he was lying flat on the bed, and he took his wrists and placed them above his head. 

“Keep them there,” he growled. 

Theo’s eyes widened, but he nodded as Draco began kissing down his jaw. 

“Shit, Draco,” Theo breathed as Draco’s lips left a trail of hot kisses along his nape. He began sucking on the sensitive skin. 

“Ah! No marks.” 

“Why not? Afraid someone will see what I’ve done to you?” 

Draco resumed the hickey he was working on while his fingers fumbled with the buttons on Theo’s baby blue dress shirt. 

_“Fuck.”_ Theo’s back arched off the bed as Draco left more kisses before making his way down to the other man’s chest. 

His tongue lapped around Theo’s nipple, and the other man _keened_. Draco could have Theo aching for him in minutes. 

“So worked up already, and I haven’t even touched your cock yet,” Draco murmured against the skin. He could feel how fast Theo’s heart was beating beneath him. Funny how the tables were flipped now. 

“Fuck.” 

Draco made sure to pay the same respect to the other nipple as his hands worked open the rest of Theo’s buttons. He revealed the toned expanse of Theo’s torso next, which he paid extra special attention to as he lavished the tan skin with kisses, going lower and lower until he reached his belt. 

“Off,” he instructed, sitting up. 

Theo obeyed instantly. He undid his belt and pulled down his trousers and boxers. Draco took a moment to marvel his enlarged erection. 

“You’re too dressed,” Theo said, voice laced with lust. “Come here.” He captured Draco’s lips in another heated kiss, and while Draco’s hands were tangled in his hair, Theo began unbuttoning Draco’s shirt. Draco sighed contentedly as Theo began nipping at the sensitive expanse of his neck. 

“So pretty,” Theo murmured against his nape. “You’re gorgeous, anyone ever tell you that?” 

Draco felt his control on the situation slipping fast, as a deep blush coated his cheeks. Theo he could handle; Theo _complimenting_ him was an entire different animal. 

“I could kiss you just like this, all night,” Theo continued, shoving Draco’s shirt off and exposing his bare, scarred skin. He paused. Draco inhaled sharply. 

Theo lifted a tentative finger and traced one of the paths of his Sectumsempra scars. “Is this from-” 

“Don’t,” was all Draco said in response. He repressed the queasiness threatening to overtake him. He couldn’t do this, not right now. 

Theo’s eyes widened, but he did not push the other man. Instead, he began working on Draco’s belt. 

“Let me.” Draco could do it faster, anyways, and he was _aching_ to release his throbbing cock. He quickly undid the belt and stood up to remove his pants. He stroked himself once, twice, a third time to get to full hardness, and then climbed back on the bed. 

He climbed over Theo, who lay back and sighed as Draco kissed down his happy trail. He looked up at him seductively, then placed his mouth over his length, licking and teasing the slit. 

Theo’s back arched off the bed, but Draco placed a hand on his hip bone. “Stay down,” he ordered. 

“Merlin, Draco, since when have you been so- _Ohh_ , shit.” 

Draco had all but swallowed his cock, making sloppy slurping sounds in the back of his throat. Theo released a string of moans as Draco bobbed his head up and down, licking and swirling along the base. He breathed in the musky scent of Theo’s balls, and felt absolutely _filthy_. 

“I’m not gonna last like this,” Theo gasped out. 

Draco responded by taking him even deeper, and Theo attempted to thrust his hips up. This time Draco let him, too far gone to stop him. 

“Fuck, Draco, I’m gonna-” 

Draco pulled off him with a wet pop, smiling innocently as though he’d been licking a lollipop instead of a cock. “Think you can hold on a little bit longer for me?”

“I dunno if I can,” Theo said roughly. “I could come from the sight of my precome dribbling down your chin alone.” 

Draco furiously wiped his mouth. “Well, that’s not happening today,” he said point-blank. 

In one fluid motion, Theo had them flipped over and this time it was he who leaned over Draco, lacing their hands together and kissing him deeply, sensually. Draco was beginning to get antsy, and with his hands preoccupied he had no footing to ground himself as Theo lightly trailed his neck with his mouth before going lower, letting go of Draco’s hands. He dipped past his scars and danced his lips across Draco’s ribs. 

Draco shuddered with anticipation.

“Can I fuck you?” Theo murmured into his skin. 

“What?” Draco felt his cock twitch in interest, which did not go unnoticed by Theo. 

“Can I fuck you?” he asked again. 

Draco sighed as Theo began teasing his sides with his nails. 

“What do you need, an ingrained invitation?” 

“Prick.” 

Theo got off of him and rummaged through his nightstand drawer for lube while Draco just lay there, breathing heavily as the reality of his situation began to sink in for him. 

He felt Theo nudge his legs apart, wide, wider. He released a shuddering breath. Theo uncapped the lube, and only as he was lubing up his fingers did it occur to him to ask Draco an important question. 

“Have you done this before?” 

“What, have a cock up my arse?” 

Theo sighed. 

“Well, no, actually.” 

_“Fuck.”_ Theo placed the bottle back on his nightstand. “Were you going to tell me?” 

"What, you don't want to fuck a _virgin_ , Nott?" Draco challenged him, feeling his walls spring back up. 

Theo's eyes widened. "No, Draco, _Merlin_ , I just-" 

"Am I too delicate for you?" 

"That's not what this is about." 

"Then what is it about?" 

"I don't want . . . _Fuck_ , I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage." 

Draco sat up. "We're past that," he said huskily. "I want this. I want _you."_

Theo looked at him as though he were unsure. 

"I've wanked about you, you know," Draco said. "Thought about how good you'd feel inside me, about coming apart on your cock-" 

"Fuck, _Draco_ , you can't just _say_ things like that." 

"Why not?" Draco asked innocently. 

Theo nudged his legs apart a little bit wider. Draco stifled a gasp. 

"Lie back down," Theo said softly. Draco did just that, heart flipping. He felt his chest rise and fall, rise and fall as he heard Theo reach for the lube again and prepare his fingers. He wouldn't dare say it aloud, but now that this was about to actually _happen_ , he felt nervous. 

“Gonna take good care of you.” Draco felt Theo’s lubed finger circle at his entrance, teasing, before he breached it to the knuckle. The sensation was foreign, but not entirely unpleasant. Draco sucked in a gasp, and he felt himself involuntarily tighten around the digit. 

“Relax, baby, need you to relax.” Theo pressed a few kisses into his left inner thigh. Draco trembled from the intimacy of it all. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and slowly, his muscles unclenched. 

“Good, that’s good,” Theo praised. He pushed his finger deeper inside. Draco moaned. “Can you do another?” 

Draco found himself nodding. Theo removed his finger and replaced it with two. Draco felt himself stretch even further. The feeling was obscene. He moaned as Theo pistoned his fingers at a different angle and fucked into him, curling and stretching. If two fingers had him feeling like this, what was an entire _cock_ supposed to do? 

Suddenly, a feeling of intense pleasure rippled through him that was so strong it spread throughout his entire torso and made his toes curl. 

“Shit, Theo, what was _that?”_ he whined in an entirely new octave. 

“This?” 

Theo pistoned his fingers again, hitting that little bundle of nerves, and Draco nearly shot off the bed. 

“That would be your prostate.” 

“H-Have you ever-” 

“Yes, I have.” Theo answered Draco’s unfinished question. “It feels pretty amazing. It hurts, at first. But it will feel really, really good.” 

Theo continued fucking Draco with his fingers, and Draco had to put a hand over his mouth to stop the embarrassing noises from coming out. 

“Don’t do that, Draco. I wanna hear you.” 

The confession startled him, and before he realized what was happening Theo’s fingers had slipped out of him and the man grabbed for his wand, casting a quick silencing charm around the bed. Draco's hole clenched around nothing, and he whined at the loss of stimulation. 

"Lemme hear you," Theo breathed, pushing his fingers back in. He hit that deliciously sweet spot again, hard, and Draco whimpered. It felt so good, he couldn't control himself as he thrashed and writhed on the bed. He released a string of moans as Theo relentlessly hit his prostate over and over again. His cock was dripping with precome; he certainly wouldn’t last if Theo didn’t stop. 

As if Theo had read his mind, or more likely his very obvious reactions, his fingers slipped out. “Think you can do one more?” he asked, voice gone lower. 

Draco gulped. “Y-Yes.” 

“It’ll make it easier. Trust me.” And three fingers were rubbing outside Draco’s stretched muscle before swiftly entering him with little resistance. It burned, but the feeling was addicting and Draco soon realized that he actually wanted more. 

“Fuck, look at you,” Theo murmured as he pistoned his fingers deeper into Draco. Draco began panting as he felt his muscles loosen even further. “You should see yourself right now, holy _fuck.”_

“T-Theo,” Draco gasped, clutching at the bedsheets. “N-Need more." 

“Shit. Okay.” 

Theo pulled his fingers out, and Draco nearly whined at the loss of feeling. “How do you want me?” he asked. 

“On all fours.” 

Draco bit back a moan as he repositioned himself. He heard the slicking of lube as Theo prepared his cock. 

“You ready?” 

“Yes, just get on with it, Theo.” 

“Needy.” 

Draco felt the tip of Theo’s cock enter him, and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Relax,” Theo murmured behind him, rubbing his back soothingly. “This is the hard part, but it will start feeling good so soon.” 

Draco let out a string of curses as Theo continued to push inside him, and the man didn’t dare move until he was fully sheathed. Draco heaved for air. He had never felt so _full_. 

“Alright?”

“You can move, now.” 

Theo began thrusting in and out of him, slow and languid at first. He allowed Draco time to stretch and get used to the sensation of a cock being buried inside his arse. But once Draco’s gasps began being replaced by moans and cries for more, he picked up the speed and thrust into him harder. The salacious sound of his balls slapping Draco's arse cheeks filled his eardrums. It crumbled his resolve, and Draco did something he'd never done before. 

He _begged_. 

"F-Fuck, Theo, please. Harder, please." 

Theo was nothing if not responsive, and instantly he began thrusting harder and deeper into Draco, hands squeezing his hips so hard they'd leave bruises. Draco's body bounced back and forth against his cock at such an intense pace he began gasping for breath. He felt every single ruthless thrust inside him, flaying every nerve as he was burned and stretched wider than he ever thought possible. 

It was _incredible_. 

One particular thrust sent white hot tendrils of pleasure through Draco’s entire body, head to toe. Theo had found it. “R-Right there, Theo, _fuck.”_

“You take my cock so well, Draco, _Merlin.”_

Theo angled his thrusts to hit his prostate every single time, and Draco was about to collapse onto the mattress. 

“Gonna . . . Gonna come,” he stuttered out, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the bed sheets. 

“Come for me, baby. Come all over my hand.” Theo reached down underneath him and fisted his cock. Pleasure coiled thickly in his gut. Theo’s thrusts were getting more frantic, less controlled, and it was his loss of control that took Draco over the edge. 

He came in spurts, legs convulsing as he chased the high of his release. The aftershocks of his orgasm rippled through him as he gasped for air, collapsing onto the bed. 

Theo let go of his cock and moaned as he emptied his fluids into Draco. The aftermath had Theo flopped on top of Draco, breathing heavily as he, too, was overwhelmed by the power of his release. 

A few moments later Draco felt Theo pull out and the weight on his back lift back up, and he turned around to see Theo sitting on the bed with an odd sort of smile on his face. Next thing he knew, he was being tackled into the mattress as Theo layered kiss after kiss onto Draco’s dampened forehead and cheeks and murmured praises into his ear. 

“You did so well, Draco, fuck, you came so pretty for me like that, on my cock.” 

Draco couldn’t help but grin. Theo smiled and kissed one, and both sides of his lips before kissing him directly on the lips and holding it there for one, two, three seconds, not that Draco was counting, before he let go. 

“That was bloody brilliant,” Theo said, still out of breath as he stood up to get dressed. “Don’t you agree?” 

Draco could only nod. He stared fondly at the other boy as he pulled his dress shirt back over his head and redid the belt on his trousers. It only occurred to him once Theo was fully dressed that he, too, needed to put clothes back on. 

“Don’t feel like you have to get dressed,” Theo said cheekily. “I wouldn’t mind looking at you as you are for a little longer.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Some of us have studying to do, Nott.” 

“Back to last names, are we? I’m wounded.” 

“Last I checked, you had studying, too. Now, how are we going to get to the library without blowing our cover?” Draco stood up and fished for his dress shirt, throwing it over his head before grabbing his boxers and putting them on. 

“We’ll stagger it,” said Nott. “You show up first, then I’ll come fifteen minutes later. My excuse is that I had a detention with Professor Slughorn for being late.” 

“Slughorn never gives detention.” Draco stepped back into his pants. 

“I don’t see you coming up with a better cover story.” 

“Fine, mine is I was working with Potter on our group project for Potions. Easy.” 

Theo smirked at him. 

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was my first time ever writing smut so if it's cringe or you hate it I'm sorry lmao


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a long one, hope u all enjoy

Draco took a moment to scan his disheveled appearance in the mirror in their room. He heard the soft sound of Theo putting his shoes back on. 

His hair was a right state, blonde locks all over the place as opposed to the way he always kept it neatly combed. He sighed, opening the top drawer of his dresser where he kept his comb. 

“Shit, Draco.  _ Fuck!” _ Theo exclaimed, startling him enough to almost drop the comb. 

Draco began running the comb through his messy hair in attempts to tame it, though little could be done to prevent the sheath of sweat around his temples. It dampened parts of his hair. His cheeks were still tinted a deep, rosy pink. 

“What is it?” 

“I forgot to use a protection charm on you.” 

Draco froze. The comb stilled in his hair. 

He had also forgotten, but that didn’t make him any less upset at the situation. He turned to face Theo, who appeared to be genuinely troubled. He sat perched on his bed, with only one shoe on. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco said casually, opting for the indifferent route. “It was just sex, and in the moment we both forgot. Nothing to be ashamed about.” 

They hadn’t talked about it. It hadn’t felt like  _ just sex _ to Draco, when Theo had lovingly caressed him and praised him for how well he’d done. But Theo had already hurt his feelings once, and Draco wasn’t going to let it happen again. 

Theo’s eyes widened. He dropped his shoe. “Just sex, huh?” 

“I wasn’t expecting anything else,” Draco said coolly as he resumed brushing his hair. Slowly but surely it began to fall back into place, nowhere near where Draco wanted it but better than the lion’s nest it had resembled before. “It was a lot of fun, though.” 

_ “Fun?” _ Theo echoed. He stood up off the bed, shoes entirely forgotten. “It was fun to you. Was that all?” 

Draco swallowed thickly. He hadn’t expected the other boy to be so  _ confrontational _ about it, had thought they were on the same page it only being sex, until it hadn’t been, and now Draco didn’t know  _ what _ to feel- 

Theo’s face fell into a frown. 

“You think I’d fuck anything that walks, don’t you.” Now he just sounded hurt, and Draco was wracked with guilt in spite of himself. He couldn’t seem to figure out how to stop hurting people, could he. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

Theo reached down and put on his other shoe while Draco sorted out the last remaining stray hairs. Then Theo began walking closer to the other man. 

“Is that all you see yourself as?” he asked softly. The question’s veracity surprised Draco. 

“No.” 

“Well, then what was that, to you?” The question was open, vulnerable. It made Draco tremble. “Was it just ‘fun’ to you?”

“It . . . was . . . It was-” 

“What do  _ you _ want, Draco? Tell me, in your words.” 

Draco felt his eyes widen and his mouth open. He didn’t think a single person had ever asked him that before. 

_ You _ , he realized. 

“This,” he said instead, gesturing to the space between them. 

Theo cocked an eyebrow. “What’s ‘this’?” 

“I dunno, Theo, you tell me!” he exclaimed, feeling frustrated that he was losing control of the conversation and flustered by his sudden onset of feelings he hadn’t known even existed. 

“I’m not the one who appears to be confused here. I know perfectly well what I want.” 

_ Then why don’t you tell me? Why do  _ I _ have to be the one to say it?  _

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t be as in check with my emotions as you are.” 

“It’s simple, really,” Theo said flippantly. 

“How so?” 

“You either want me, or you don’t.” 

“So this is an ultimatum,” Draco snapped. 

“It’s a question.” 

Draco thought of Theo following him to the astronomy tower when he knew he’d have a panic attack, of him convincing Draco to make the right decision in visiting his father; even if it’d ended poorly for him, he’d done it for his mother, and that was all that mattered. He thought of Theo asking him why he hadn’t told him he was a virgin, of him fucking him like he was the only one that mattered, the way he’d been rough with him in all the right ways but somehow endearingly soft at the same time. Pools of sweat gathered in his palms, and without realizing what he was doing he took a step closer to the other man. 

“Theo . . .” 

“Draco. Tell me what you want.” His voice had gone softer, but it was rough around the edges. He sounded wrecked. Draco chanced another step closer, and he heard Theo’s breath hitch. 

As if in a lucid dream, Draco lifted a hand and placed it softly on the other boy’s jaw. He thumbed the freshly shaven skin. Theo sighed shakily, shoulders rising and falling, rising and falling, and in that moment Draco knew why Theo needed to leave it up to him. 

Draco closed the gap between them, as their foreheads softly touched. He placed his other hand on the other side of Theo’s face, cupping his jaw tenderly. 

“I want you.” 

Draco pulled him in for a searing kiss. Their tongues danced together, and soon Theo took control of the kiss, tongue coating and exploring every inch of Draco’s mouth. Draco sighed into the other man as Theo brought his hands up to cup Draco’s face. 

They broke apart, both panting, foreheads still touching. Draco took his hands and ran them through Theo’s smooth, soft, now messed up hair. Sex hair looked rather good on him, when it was from him. 

“Draco . . .” he breathed against his mouth. He planted a firm kiss on Draco’s lips, holding it there for a long moment. Draco sucked in a deep breath through his nose as Theo kissed him on his lips again, this time softly, once, twice, and a third time, before pulling away and looking deep into his eyes. 

Draco shook from the pure gentleness of the gesture. 

“I want you, too.” 

Theo kissed him a final time before pulling him into an embrace. Draco continued to shake as Theo wrapped his arms around his back, pulling him flush to his chest. Draco rested his head on Theo’s shoulder. Theo wasted no time in peppering more kisses onto the crown of Draco’s head as he held him tightly. 

“You’re shivering,” he murmured into Draco’s hairline. 

Draco said nothing, only lifted his head to look up into Theo’s concerned brown eyes. “It’s bloody cold in these dorms,” he said weakly. 

“I bet I can think of a few ways to warm you up,” Theo tossed him a wink. 

“You dirty bastard.” 

“You bring it out in me.” 

The confession drew a smile out of Draco. 

“I really should be going,” he said, desperately needing to gear his thoughts toward a safer subject matter. If they continued down this avenue, the two of them might never leave for that library. “They’re going to wonder what’s going on.” 

“Let them wonder.” Theo’s eyes were dark with hungry lust. “Merlin, Draco, the things I want to do to you, you have no  _ idea-” _

“I’ve an Arithmetics exam tomorrow,” Draco said breezily, fully aware of the effect he was having on the other man. Feather light, he stroked Theo’s face. “And it’s getting late.” 

With that, he parted from Theo and gathered his books and parchment, throwing everything in his messenger bag. 

“You’re killing me.” 

This time it was Draco’s turn to smirk. “Am I? I think you like it.” 

Theo’s eyes widened. He took a step closer to Draco. 

“Bold of you to assume I’m a masochist.” 

Draco chuckled. 

“I’m assuming we’re going to keep this private, for now.” Theo toyed with his hair. 

Draco nodded. He certainly wasn’t ready to tell the others yet. It was a lot for him to process; he needed time. 

“I’m not ready yet.” 

A small smile. “If I’m being honest with you, neither am I. Besides, I rather enjoy the idea of sneaking around behind their backs.” 

Draco felt himself smirking again. “I like the way you think, Nott.” 

Nott pulled him in for one more long kiss, cupping his face gently like it was the most precious thing in the world. Draco wanted to melt. 

They parted, and Draco exited the room as he threw his messenger bag around his shoulder. 

Once he reached the library, he scanned the tables for Pansy, Blaise and Greg. He found them at a window table, which were his favourite. Right now the sound of the rain pattering on the windows was soothing to his ears, and it would make a great soundtrack for studying his maths. 

Greg saw him first. 

“Oi, mate, where the hell have you been?” 

“Working on my Potions project with Potter.” Draco took a seat next to Greg. 

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Fat load of luck you got being paired up with him.” 

“How’s that going?” Greg asked. 

“Erm . . .” 

“Are things awkward between you at all, since he, y’know, sorta saved your life?” 

“Not really,” Draco lied. But the truth was, he didn’t know  _ what _ things were between him and Potter. He felt like every time he saw the brunette things got more complicated. 

“Well, that’s good.” 

“Where’s Theo?” Blaise asked him, and Draco put on a practiced mask of indifference. 

“Think he’s caught up in detention. I might’ve heard him say something about Slughorn and staying late, but I wasn’t completely paying attention.” 

“Why’s your face all red?” Pansy asked him, taking a closer look at him. 

Draco felt his cheeks pinken further at her question. She smirked at the silent admission. 

“I went for a run earlier.” 

“In the rain?” Blaise asked. 

_ Shit _ . 

“It’s sodding freezing out, mate,” Blaise continued. “Who’d voluntarily run in this weather?” 

“I-I was-” 

“Where have you  _ really _ been, Draco Malfoy?” 

Pansy’s mischievous tone made him nervous because whenever she asked like that, she expected nothing less than a truthful answer. And she had the lie detector of a criminal mastermind. 

“I told you, I was with Potter. And as you all know, I’m greatly out of shape at the moment, so small trips wear me out.” 

“Was studying all you were doing with Potter?” Pansy asked conversationally. Blaise snorted. Greg retched. Draco nearly choked. 

“You’re absolutely disgusting.” He pulled his Arithmancy book out of his bag, along with some parchment, ink, and a quill. 

“Oh, come off it, you’ve always been a little obsessed. Especially during the Triwizard Tournament; even you’ve got to admit you wouldn’t shut up about him.” 

Draco blushed something fierce. “I am not obsessed _ , _ Pansy.” 

Pansy was grinning. “Suit yourself. I was only asking what you were up to.” 

The group fell into a comfortable silence as they studied, and before long Draco heard a familiar voice behind him. 

“Room for one more?” 

It was Theo, and he looked absolutely dreadful. His hair was as messy as it was when Draco had left him, he hadn’t bothered to button his shirt all the way up, and, to Draco’s astounding horror, sported the hickey Draco had made for him fully on display on the left side of his neck. 

Why hadn’t he glamorized it? 

Was he  _ trying _ to get them caught? 

“Look at  _ you,” _ Greg exclaimed as Blaise whistled lowly. Pansy all but  _ cackled _ . 

“Who’ve you just shagged, Theo?” 

“I’ll shag whomever I damn well please.” Theo plopped in the empty seat next to Draco, between him and Blaise. “And that is none of your business. I don’t kiss and tell.” 

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. 

“You don’t kiss and tell,” she repeated skeptically. “The Theo Nott, who has reported to me  _ every _ shag since I caught you red-handed in fifth year, doesn’t kiss and tell.” 

Draco paled. Nobody else knew about their incident in the broom closet except for Pansy. Pansy seemed to have realized her mistake as well, for she placed a hand over her mouth. 

“Who’d you catch him shagging in fifth year?” Greg asked. 

Nott and Draco had both been open about their sexualities to their friends, but had not wanted to stir up drama by telling them about what had happened between them. A little voice whispered in Draco’s head that it was probably more drama keeping the incident a secret, but he ignored it. 

Suddenly, another familiar but this time unwelcome voice spoke behind him. 

“Excuse me, Malfoy?” 

It was Potter. 

Draco whipped his head around to view his visitor. 

“Can I help you?” he asked coldly. 

Potter frowned. “I was wondering why you didn’t show for our Potions project meeting earlier this afternoon.” 

_ Circe, _ he’d completely forgotten. The dementor attack had left him so shaken up that he'd taken a long nap instead. 

Pansy gasped. 

Blaise’s mouth dropped open. 

A wide, evil grin appeared on Greg’s face. 

Theo blinked in surprise. 

Draco felt heat rise in his cheeks. He was  _ mortified _ . 

“Erm . . .” Potter raised a brow, glancing uncomfortably at the scene before him. “What’s going on?” 

“I dunno,” Pansy hummed, eyes not leaving Draco’s. “What  _ is _ going on, Draco? Theo?” 

Draco looked to Theo, panicked, completely aware he hadn’t even bothered with his mask. It was no use. His embarrassment was written all over his face; everyone had seen it, and now they were going to tease them endlessly and he wasn’t ready, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go-

Theo held his stare, looking calm. Well, that made one of them. 

“So  _ this _ is why you came into the library looking a right state,” said Blaise. 

Draco’s hands clenched into fists. Potter was here, this was all too much-

“Malfoy?” 

Potter’s curious voice brought him back to reality. Draco unclenched his hands, breathing unsteadily. He stood up and began packing his bag. 

“We can work on it now, Potter, if you like.” 

Potter’s eyes widened. “Oh, okay, I was kind of in the middle of studying with Ron and Hermione, but I suppose we can grab our own table and-” 

“Great, so we’ll be going, then.” Draco slung his bag over his shoulder. 

“Draco, wait,” said Pansy. “You can’t leave now! Things just got good.” 

Draco glanced at the table, and when his eyes landed on Theo’s dejected expression his heart lurched. He almost wanted to stay. But a stronger urge tugged at him to run away, the dominant urge that had dictated his choices his whole life. So he listened to it. 

______________

Harry wasn’t sure what he’d walked in on at Malfoy’s table of friends, but judging by the look on Malfoy’s face it was something private. So, respectfully, he decided not to bring it up as he and Malfoy weaved through the library looking for a table. 

“Over there.” Malfoy pointed toward a free table, tucked in between a couple of tables of noisy first years who hadn’t yet adopted proper library etiquette. Harry sighed. It would have to do. 

He and Malfoy sat across from each other and put their stuff down. 

“What you saw back there, it was . . . It was nothing,” said Malfoy, sounding positively flustered. Harry almost felt bad for the bastard. “So don’t ask.” 

“Wasn’t going to,” Harry said. “Like I told you, it makes no difference to me.” 

Malfoy frowned. “What happened to the Potter I knew? The one that cared about everyone?” 

“Maybe you never knew the real me.” 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying you don’t care about people.” 

Harry sighed. How many times would he have to go through this with the other man? “I’m just like anybody else.”  _ Which is what everyone seems to keep forgetting. _ “I care about the ones I love, and that’s it.” 

“That’s noble in its own way.” The tone wasn’t unkind, which startled Harry. He looked at Malfoy closer. They had ended things weirdly in that hospital room, where Harry wasn’t sure whether he was relieved to have been walking from the conversation or not. Now sitting here before him, Harry felt . . . odd. There was no other word for it. Like the idea of civil conversation with Malfoy was too incomprehensible to even fathom. 

“Caring about everybody would be utterly exhausting,” Malfoy continued. Harry could hardly imagine the idea of Malfoy caring about anybody else aside from himself and maybe his mother. 

“It’s impossible,” Harry said with a strained chuckle. “You’d drive yourself mad. Besides, it would defeat the purpose of caring at all, wouldn’t it?” 

“You’ve got that right.” 

Harry never would have thought he’d hear those words come out of Malfoy’s mouth. These were strange times. Malfoy couldn’t seem to stop surprising him. 

“This feels utterly rhetorical,” Malfoy suddenly said, and Harry couldn’t help himself. He actually laughed. 

“Yes, yes, it does.” 

“So, Potions?” 

They began to discuss the nature of their project, what type of potion they were to be brewing, and how they were to begin charting the brewing process. Malfoy took out a parchment, a quill and some ink to write everything down that they talked about. After discussing for a while, Harry found himself thinking of Snape, oddly missing the late Potions professor. Slughorn just wasn’t the same. 

“Do you miss Snape?” Harry asked him, unsure why he felt compelled to ask  _ Malfoy _ that question when the answer was fairly obvious. Malfoy had been his favourite student; of course he would miss him. But perhaps that only meant Malfoy rather missed the attention and favouritism than the man. 

Malfoy’s expression darkened. He stiffened in his seat. “I’d say no, but I don’t have a right to criticize the side he chose.” 

“You mean your side?” 

“I mean  _ his  _ side.” 

Harry blinked in surprise. Sure, Malfoy had shown acts of defiance against Voldemort, but he hadn’t been completely sure where his loyalties lay. He decided to go for it and tell him. He felt like Malfoy needed to know this. 

“He was a spy.” 

Sure enough, Malfoy’s expression instantly softened and his eyes widened. “What did you say?” 

“He was a spy, for the Order. He was the Dark Lord’s most trusted servant, and he was our spy.”

“I never knew that.” Malfoy sounded calm, but Harry knew him better than that. His tone held a delicate hint of pain. 

“He gave me his memories, before he died. He switched sides because of my mother.” Well,  _ that  _ was extremely personal information to share with someone who most certainly did not give a single shit about him. Why was he telling Malfoy all this? 

“I never got to say goodbye,” Malfoy said softly. “He died thinking I hated him.” 

Harry resisted the urge to reach across the table and hold his hand. Wait a minute, where had  _ that _ come from? Since when did he have urges about Malfoy to resist in the first place? 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” said Harry, wanting to offer any comfort to the other boy that he could. Anything to remove that lace of pain from his tone and see him smiling again. “He knew you were young, that you didn’t understand.” 

“No.” Malfoy shook his head. “The last time I saw him, I looked him in the eye and told him I hated him. I spent weeks Occluding the memory for the Dark Lord to find it in seconds.” 

Harry felt a surge of dread wash through him. “Why do you call him that?” he asked Malfoy darkly. 

Malfoy looked at him wearily. “Force of habit.” His tone was clipped. 

“You said Voldemort found the memory in seconds,” Harry said. “What did he do to you?” 

“He didn’t torture me,” Malfoy said casually, too casually. “That would have been too merciful.” 

_ Mercy. _ That was Death Eater language. Malfoy was mocking himself. Or them. Harry didn’t know anymore. It was too confusing. Sure, Malfoy had failed to identify them in the Manor, even given Harry his wand, but he still didn’t know for certain whether he’d wanted Voldemort to win. 

“What did he do, then?” Harry asked, frowning in worry. 

Something indiscernible flashed across Malfoy’s face, but it was gone in a moment, replaced by that mask made of steel. 

“He made me torture my mother.” The words were cold. Harry gasped audibly. 

“Malfoy, that’s- that’s-” 

“I know.” 

“He made you- that’s- your  _ mother-” _

“He wouldn’t let me stop until I laughed at her.” Malfoy ran a hand through his white-blonde hair, hair that looked so soft Harry found himself wondering what it would feel like carded through his fingers. 

“Malfoy, I’m so sorry.” 

“Nothing to apologize for.” Malfoy waved it off. 

“I know, I’m just-” 

“I don’t want your pity, Potter.” 

“It wasn’t pity, for Godric’s sake, I’m not a charity basket.” 

The lines of Malfoy’s plump, pink lips curved down into a frown. “I never said you were.” The words came out small. 

“You didn’t have to.” 

Something flashed in Malfoy’s eyes. Harry chose to ignore it. He gestured to the parchment in front of them. “We should probably-” 

“Yeah. Let’s get to it. I have a lot of studying to do.” 

“As do I.” 

They worked for a while, and then eventually packed it up. 

“I guess I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” Harry said, feeling uncertain of where they were leaving things. Why did it feel like they always had these deep and somewhat meaningful conversations that were plucked dead before they could fully substantiate? 

“I’ll see you then.” Malfoy nodded curtly at him before setting off to find his mates again. Harry headed back for Ron and Hermione. When he found them, he sat down with a sigh and placed his bag on the floor. 

“Took you long enough,” greeted Ron. “Where have you been?” 

“Malfoy and I were working on our project,” Harry said as casually as he could. There was nothing to hide; it was the truth. 

So why did he feel like he was hiding something? 

Hermione frowned. “For two hours? Seems like a long time just to plan a Potions project.” 

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the third degree. 

“We got a bit side tracked, and had some . . . Relatively normal conversation.” 

“Relatively normal?” Ron parrotted. “What in the blazing hell does that mean?” 

“This is Malfoy we’re talking about,” said Hermione. “We have no idea what ‘relatively normal conversation’ looks like with him, considering he insults us with practically every breath he takes.” 

Harry thought about the look on his face when he’d said that Voldemort had made him torture his mother, his look in the hospital when he’d admitted he didn’t hate Ron or Hermione at all; rather, envied them. He was beginning to think the bloke wasn’t as bad as people liked to think he was. 

_ Stop it _ , a little voice in the back of his head said.  _ This is Malfoy. He isn’t a good person. He was probably just trying to elicit sympathy from you so you’d forget that he was a Death Eater.  _

Harry couldn’t argue with her there. Instead of trying, he sighed and reached into his bag to take out his Ancient Runes textbook and notes with an “I know, Hermione,” and left it at that. 

“So, what was the ‘relatively normal’ conversation about?” Ron pressed. 

“I told him about Snape.” 

Hermione gasped. “You did  _ what?” _

“It was only fair he knew. They were close.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, Harry, it’d sound like you were on his side,” said Ron. 

“No one’s on anyone’s side,” said Harry, exasperatedly. “I just wanted to inform him. I regret bringing this up at all.” 

“Harry, we’re just trying to get a sense of what happened,” said Hermione. “You didn’t just talk about Potions, you also talked about Snape. It’s a lot to take in, considering Malfoy fought for the enemy.” 

“I know.” 

“Mate. You gotta watch out for him. He’ll use any personal information you give him and use it against you. It’s what he does.” 

“I know.” 

“So just be careful if you’re gonna continue talking to him about anything besides Potions, alright?” 

Harry sighed. 

The three settled into a silence as the clock ticked later and the pressure of their studies mounted on them all. They worked for hours, until their mouths dropped open one by one like dominoes in a yawn. 

“I’m ready to call it a night,” said Ron. “How about you, Hermione?” 

“Me, too.” 

“Great.” He kissed her on the cheek. 

The trio exited the library once their bags were packed and headed to the common room. Once they reached the door, Harry murmured the password and stepped inside. 

The common room was mostly deserted, save for a few groups of students sitting by the fireplace. Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way for the stairs, but were promptly blocked by Ginny. 

“Harry.” 

“Hey, Gin.” They hadn’t spoken since their fight earlier that day. Harry had run off and allowed a few tears of frustration to leak from his eyes before furiously wiping them away and deciding that he would  _ solve _ his problem instead of crying over it. 

“Can I talk to you?” 

“Of course. Ron, Hermione, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He bid them goodnight and followed Ginny over to a couple of vacant chairs. She sat down, fiddling with her fingers. Harry studied her closely. He wasn’t sure which angle she was going to take, but he could read her tells well. She was about to either completely give in, or find a way to attack Harry’s line of logic about them taking a break. 

“Harry, I-” 

“Ginny, I’m sorry for running away earlier.” The words flew out of his mouth. “That was wrong of me. We’re supposed to be a team, and I acted selfishly.” 

“It’s okay . . .” Ginny frowned. “I’ve been a bit selfish as well, it seems.” 

She played with a piece of her fiery red hair that Harry loved to pull as he made love to her from behind. God, he missed her, and here she was right in front of him. 

“I’ve been insensitive to your . . . Issue, and I’m sorry about that.” 

“Thank you for apologizing.” Was this how relationships worked? This was Harry’s first one; he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and evidently neither did Ginny, so they’d reasoned they’d figure it out together as they went along. Turns out they hadn’t needed to; everything had been perfect, until now. 

Harry was worried that now that they weren’t perfect, they couldn’t be anything at all, because that was how he always envisioned Ginny as: perfect. No flaws, no dimension, just pure, unadulterated perfection. He was only now beginning to realize how unhealthy that vision was. 

Was Harry even  _ ready _ for a real relationship? 

“You’re welcome. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’m sorry I pushed you about your decision to take a break. You clearly want to for a reason, and I didn’t respect that. For that, I apologize.” 

Harry wasn’t sure if Ginny’s apologies were sincere or calculated. 

“It’s okay, Gin,” he said gently. “It’s in the past. We can move forward from it.” 

Ginny chuckled. “Is this how people in relationships move past their issues? Cause I think we’re doing a fantastic job so far.” She sounded so sweet, so innocent . . . 

Maybe her apologies were sincere. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” Harry said. “You know I’m not good with this sort of stuff, Gin. I’m trying. I really am.” 

“I know you are, Harry, and I love you all the more for it. I want to communicate to you that I’m nothing short of devastated that you want to spend some time apart from me to figure this out, but if that’s what you want then I will respect your wishes.” 

She sounded so formal, _ fuck _ . He wanted the old Ginny back, the one that would curse and argue with him about Quidditch. 

“I think it is for the best,” said Harry. “I’d still like to stay friends, because I really dunno what I’d do without you.” 

Ginny sighed. “Of course we’ll stay friends, Harry. I bloody well don’t know what I’d do without you, either, you big prick.” 

______________

Draco and the others were walking back to the common room from the library after a long night of studying. Nott hadn’t so much as looked at him once after his performance at their table earlier that evening, which Draco didn’t blame him for. He deserved it. 

After he’d gotten back to his table, Pansy had immediately attacked him with a series of questions about Nott. 

_ How long have you guys been seeing each other?  _

_ Who made the first move?  _

_ Whose bloody awful idea was it to come in staggered covered in love bites like we wouldn’t notice? _

To his irritation, she hadn’t relented no matter how many times he’d told her to shut up, and finally he’d threatened to leave the table if she kept bringing it up. That had quieted her down. Greg and Blaise knew better than to push. He had a feeling Theo was getting grilled later, though. 

Self loathing twisted in his gut, and he held his head down low as the group walked back upstairs. Nott bumped his shoulder and glared at him scathingly. Draco grabbed his wrist, to Theo’s shock, halting his movements. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Theo hissed. 

“We’ll catch up with you guys,” Draco called to the others. 

“Don’t bother finding us when you’re done,” Blaise called, as they rounded a corner up a flight of stairs. Not letting go of Nott’s wrist, Draco began marching him downstairs and through a hallway where they could have some privacy to talk. 

“What the bloody hell was  _ that _ for?” Draco snarled, shoving Theo with his free hand and letting go of his wrist. 

“What?” asked Theo, feigning innocence. 

“You know what, you insufferable arsehole.” 

“Y’know,  _ Malfoy _ , I figured once our cover was blown that you would be all for standing up for our relationship-” 

Circe, it only just now registered to Draco that what they’d agreed on was a  _ relationship _ -

“-because what good would it do to lie and hide once everyone found out? I should’ve realized it would be a bad plan, that they’d find out immediately, and I’m sorry about that, but really, Draco? Really? You’d rather go gallivanting off with Potter?” 

“Theo, that’s not what-” 

“Don’t even try to deny that you were disgusted by the idea of telling our friends we were together.” 

“I wasn’t disgusted, I-” 

“You are such a coward, Draco! Always running away.” 

Draco frowned at the harsh words. 

“I’m sorry, but I just wasn’t-” 

“Ready. Exactly. That tells me everything I need to know about you. You make me sick.” 

It felt like he had stepped on his heart and cracked it into pieces. 

_ You make me sick _ . 

His mouth opened in shock, then he closed it instantly, shutting down and compartmentalizing everything. He would  _ not _ allow himself to feel hurt by Theo. This was his fault, his mess, and therefore he did not deserve to feel any sort of pain from the aftermath of his mistake. 

“See?” Theo exclaimed with a strangled chuckle. “You have nothing more to say to me.” 

And he was gone. It took everything in Draco not to crumple to the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr! Username's robinbuckllly


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty angsty. Trigger warning for not ED specifically, but starvation  
> Also just a heads up, I start uni again next week so updates will slow down

When Draco had returned to the dormitories, the air in his room was thick and uncomfortable. He felt eyes on his back as he set his messenger bag down none too gently and began stripping. After a scalding hot shower, where he’d scrubbed his skin raw of the day’s events, he lay unmoving in his bed and tried his best to ignore the others. No one said a word to him. 

Today he’d been denounced by his father, attacked by a Dementor, lost his virginity to Theo, had a _civil_ conversation with Harry Potter, where he’d found out that Severus had been on the right side of the war, and then promptly had a fight with Theo because of his own insensitivity. His head was going to explode. 

He’d talked to Potter, and it had actually felt good to release some of that burden. The burden that would always be too heavy to carry, but that would maybe lighten, little by little. 

Not even Pansy knew he’d had to torture his mother.

He thought about what Potter had said, about Severus switching sides for Potter’s mother. He wondered how that made Potter feel. 

He eventually fell into a fitful sleep, where he dreamt of Potter’s hands pulling him to safety and how tightly he’d gripped onto his torso as they’d escaped the fire’s clutches by mere inches.

Draco skipped breakfast. Just the thought of being anywhere near Theo right now made him want to empty the contents of his stomach. Which was probably why he got cornered in the common room by Pansy a few hours later after his morning classes. 

“Draco Malfoy.” 

He sighed. He knew he’d have to have this conversation with her eventually; there was no more putting it off. 

“Figured you’d come looking for me sooner or later.” He’d aimed for arrogance, but he just sounded tired. 

“You figured? So you’ve got two brain cells left to rub together, then. That’s good news.” She sat down across from him and folded her arms in her lap, tapping her foot expectantly. 

Draco didn’t speak. He swallowed thickly. 

“Well?” Pansy pressed. “I’m not going to be the one to do the talking.” 

“What do you want me to say, Pansy? It all happened really fast. We started kissing, and next thing you know we were-” 

“I wasn’t asking you to justify _that_ , Draco.” Her lips pulled down in a tight frown. 

_Oh_. 

Draco tensed. His knee began to bounce. He put a shaky hand on top of it to still it. 

Pansy’s face turned cold. “You walked out on him.” 

Draco gripped his wrist with his nails and dug in. 

“You left him there to deal with the aftermath of everyone finding out- alone. Who does that?” 

Draco’s throat began closing up. In the moment, he’d been so blinded by panic from Potter’s sudden presence right after everyone at the table found out that he and Theo had just shagged, that he hadn’t even considered how his actions would affect Theo. 

“I’d understand if it were just some random bloke, or if we hadn’t already known you were bent,” she continued, sounding incredulous. “But you just . . . Stomped on his heart. Just like that.” 

_Stomped on his heart?_ What did she mean? 

“You hurt my friend,” she said. The words were detached, and Draco felt as though a very large branch were snapped from their friendship. 

_My_ friend. Not _our_ friend. _My_ friend. 

Draco exhaled shakily. His knee stopped bouncing. He dug deeper into his wrist. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Pansy asked, quieter this time. 

“It was all so much,” Draco breathed. “There was no time, I couldn’t-” 

“You don’t _need_ time to know whether or not you feel something for someone.” 

But it had all happened so fast, and how could Draco’s trust issues have been expected to fully dissipate in that short of a time? And _Potter_ had been there, and it was all too _much_ \- 

“You couldn’t have acted any more ashamed if you tried. I dunno if you were ashamed of him, or ashamed of yourself, but either way, you fucked up. Majorly.” 

Draco knew. He knew he’d fucked up, but there was nothing he could do about it now because Theo hated him and was _sick_ by the sight of him-

“If you were ashamed of yourself, that’s a long road you’ve got to travel down by yourself before you’re anywhere near ready to start messing with people’s heads again,” Pansy said icily, glaring daggers into his eyes. 

“And if you were ashamed of _him_ , then that’s completely on you because that boy has done nothing but pine for you since the moment you left him alone with me in that broom closet.” 

Draco wasn’t stupid. He knew Theo had wanted him for years. He’d watched his tells, the way his gaze would linger on Draco a little longer than was appropriate whenever he bent over to pick something up, or when he began unbuttoning his shirt. But the way Pansy had phrased it, made it sound like it was something more than lust. His heart began beating faster in his ribcage. 

“But either way, you’re an arse, and you should be ashamed of yourself.” 

Draco’s eyes averted to the floor. 

Pansy stood up. “Don’t bother joining us for lunch.” 

Had they all- Draco couldn’t even focus on that right now. His mind was too preoccupied with what Pansy had said about Theo _pining_ after him. Did that mean what he thought it meant? 

Draco watched her leave, a desperate apology on the tip of his tongue. He knew he wouldn’t say it. He didn’t have the spine. 

Draco went to lunch alone that day. He startled when someone sat next to him. 

“Hey.” 

It was Greg. 

Draco smiled wanly at him, before filling his plate with small helpings of food. 

“Not freezing me out with the others?” Draco asked him. 

Greg shrugged. “Too much drama for me. I prefer to stay out of it. Nott knows I’m closer to you, anyways.” 

Draco felt undeserving of the kindness. 

As they began eating, Draco chanced a glance down the table. He knew it wasn’t a good idea, but at this point he’d realized that his mind liked to torture him. 

Theo was looking down, and Pansy was rubbing his back in soothing motions. Draco promptly lost his appetite. 

Greg didn’t speak on Draco’s barely touched plate. 

Days began to slip by like melted butter through his fingers. He skipped breakfast every morning and spent lunch and dinner with Greg, who was a perfect safety net because he would never comment on Draco’s eating habits. When Draco could only choke down a few bites before the bile in his throat threatened to upturn his entire meal, Greg ignored it and asked him about his classes. It was a routine. Draco liked routines. 

He saw Potter in the hallways often, always sandwiched between Weasley and Granger with a big, dopey grin on his face. He was glowing he looked so happy, and Draco privately admired the way his green eyes sparkled when he laughed. Draco secretly wished he could be the source of that laughter, though he knew he never would be. 

Sometimes he saw Potter walking with his girlfriend the Weaslette, whose name he couldn’t recall, and every single time Draco’s stomach would coil and fold into knots. He supposed he should be happy for Potter; one of them deserved it, after all, and Potter had certainly taken the biggest hit from the war. But seeing him with Weaslette made his insides crumble to dust. 

He spent all his time in the library, buried in his books. If he didn’t have any friends besides Greg to talk to, who wasn’t particularly notorious for his schoolwork, then he would be damned if he didn’t get the best marks that he possibly could. Maybe he would even beat Granger. 

Eventually, Draco was no longer able to warm up. 

He found himself shivering even in long sleeves and his thickest robes put together. He huddled by the fire at night, feebly attempting to attain some circulation in his joints before he’d bury himself under all his blankets and curl up in a ball. He knew what he was doing wasn’t healthy, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about being healthy any longer. 

Not when his friends looked happier at the Slytherin table with him gone. 

“Stop looking at them,” Greg told him. Draco sighed noncommittally and poke at his stew. 

“I fucked up.” 

“You did.” 

“But strangely enough, I don’t feel that sorry. I told him I wasn’t ready. It isn’t my fault he lied to me.” 

“Think he’s been ready for years, mate.” 

First Pansy, now this? Where was this coming from? Where was Draco when Theo was _pining_ away for him, supposedly looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered? 

“I’m not a mind reader, Greg.” 

“No, but you’re smart. How you didn’t figure it out is beyond me.” 

Draco was unable to respond. His stomach churned, and not from hunger. He pushed his plate away. 

Draco eventually stopped looking at himself in the mirror. He still combed his hair every morning, but he couldn’t bear to look into the eyes of the monster he’d become. He didn’t want to see the physical repercussions of what skipping meals was slowly doing to his body, nor did he want to see his Dark Mark, or his scars, or anything else that was _him_. He hated it all. 

He caught glimpses of Theo here and there. He noticed that Theo had started walking to classes every so often with a tall, attractive bloke with sweeping black hair and ocean blue eyes. Not that Draco noticed the eye colour of Theo’s sexy new side piece. Side piece had to be all it was. Theo didn’t do main courses. Or at least Draco had thought. But clearly, Draco hadn’t meant that much to him if he could move on that quickly, right? 

Draco knew the right thing to do would be to apologize. Then, at least, he would have his friends back. Any chance at a relationship with Theo was ruined, but he could still have him as a friend, and surely that was better than nothing? 

Yet, something in him prevented him from doing so. It was almost like a part of himself that lay dormant had risen again, taking control and urging him to see how far he could take this. 

Draco stopped going to dinner. Greg never brought it up. 

He was on his way back to his room to pick up his books when he heard voices inside. He leaned against the ajar door frame to listen. 

“-think you should talk to him, he’s getting bad. I’m really worried about him.” Greg. 

“If he wants to talk to us, he’ll come do it himself.” Blaise. For all Draco knew, they could be the only two in the room. 

“Theo needs to know,” said Greg. Yup. 

“But Draco won’t talk to us, will he? Because he doesn’t care about anyone but himself,” said Blaise. 

Draco’s gut curled at the harsh words. 

“You know that’s not true, mate.” 

Draco didn’t need anybody else fighting his battles for him. He was about to march right in and confront Blaise on the spot, when Blaise spoke. 

“Is it, though? Because if he’s doing this to himself, knowing it will make people worry about him, that’s the most selfish thing a person can do. You didn’t see how Theo was that first week. He was a _wreck.”_

Draco’s mouth dropped open in shock. Theo was a wreck? Over _him?_

“I know Draco fucked up. But this is serious, this goes past whatever is going on between the two of them. I’m seriously worried about him.” 

“Oh, what is he doing?” Blaise asked flippantly. “Moping around in the common room, sad he doesn’t have any cronies anymore?” 

“He isn’t eating.” 

A cold, stifling silence swept over the room. Blaise didn’t speak for a long, long moment. Draco was about to spin around and leave, having heard enough, when he heard the other man speak. 

“He’s going to have to figure that out, then.” 

Draco walked away from the room, books completely and utterly forgotten. 

He continued to skip dinner. Not to worry Greg. But because he had no desire to go. He didn’t see the point in sitting and torturing Greg with his company, just to eat a few slices of potatoes. Greg already felt sorry enough for him at one meal to last him for three. 

Dizzy spells started shortly afterwards. Draco would stand up and immediately feel a headrush. Everything would go all fuzzy, colors would fade to a muted sepia, and his chest would feel light and airy as he tried to gain balance on his feet. The first time he had one Greg had fortunately been there to steady him. They’d been leaving lunch, and Draco had most furiously pushed off his touch. 

“I’m _fine,”_ he’d spat indignantly, but the next time it happened Greg fixed him with a stern stare that silently warned him not to say a word. 

Draco could deal with not being warm, with getting dizzy, feeling faint. What he couldn’t deal with was the increasing looks of concern from Greg. He’d have to do something about that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat. He _couldn’t_. 

_________________

One dreary morning, Harry set off to Potions. Today he and Malfoy would be getting their project grade back, and he was nothing if not eager to find out their score. They’d worked rather hard on it, and surprisingly they’d managed to keep civil the entire time. A win in and of itself, he thought. 

Malfoy was already sitting at their desk when he arrived. Like usual, he did not acknowledge Harry’s presence. But Malfoy knew today they’d be receiving their scores. Harry had thought the other boy might demonstrate a little more enthusiasm. 

Slughorn began passing out the scores, and when he handed Harry theirs he took it with antsy hands and peered. 

Full credit. 

He smirked, passing the parchment to Malfoy. Malfoy took it from him and read, though his facial expression didn’t change. It remained the same. Now that Harry was taking a closer look at him, he noticed Malfoy looked a bit pale. 

“Well, aren’t you excited?” Harry asked him. 

Malfoy nodded, looking at him wearing a strange sort of smile. It looked . . . forced. “Yeah,” was all he said. 

Harry frowned. 

“You just don’t seem it, is all.” 

Malfoy’s face settled into that scowl Harry knew all too well. “What’s it to you, Potter?” he asked, and that was the end of their conversation. 

Malfoy held his tongue while they worked on their potion in the second half of class, and Harry noticed that the rings around his eyes had worsened slightly. Malfoy displayed not a single iota of life while brewing this mix, and in spite of himself, it had Harry slightly worried. He wondered if there was something going on. 

While it was Harry’s turn to add ingredients and stir, Malfoy began blinking his eyes rapidly, as though he were having trouble staying awake. 

“Er . . . Malfoy?” 

Malfoy stilled his movements, opened his eyes fully and sneered at him. “What?” 

“Nothing. Nevermind.” 

Once class ended Harry collected his things to leave. Malfoy was out the door first, directly in front of him and Hermione. 

“I’m assuming you got full credit as well,” Harry told her. 

Hermione smiled at him. “Looks like being partners with Malfoy isn’t so bad, then.” 

Harry forced a smile. “No, I guess not.” 

He looked from his friend back to the blonde who was walking ahead of them. Suddenly, the blonde staggered on his feet. He looked like he was about to fall over. Harry cursed, and before he even realized what he was doing he ran forward and caught Malfoy just as he began to crash to the ground. 

Malfoy was heavier than he’d expected, and his arms strained with the weight of him. Malfoy opened his eyes, and immediately attempted to spring out of Harry’s grip. Harry held onto him tighter, out of pure instinct. 

“What the _hell_ , Potter. Let me go.” 

“If it weren’t for me, you’d have cracked your head open on the floor.” Harry let him go, and immediately Malfoy wobbled on the spot. Sighing, Harry grabbed one of his arms none too gently and wrapped it around his shoulder. 

“Harry, he needs to go to Madam Pomfrey,” said Hermione, sounding worried. 

“No!” Malfoy exclaimed from beside him. “Please, no . . . Not again.” 

“You _fainted_ , Malfoy, in case you’ve forgotten,” said Hermione sternly. 

Malfoy’s eyes widened in panic. “I did?” he asked, voice much smaller than before. “S-Shit . . .” 

“Harry, I’ve got to get to class,” Hermione said, frowning at the pair of them. “I’ll see you later.” 

With a swish of her robes she was gone in the crowd, leaving Harry to deal with Malfoy completely out of his element. 

“You don’t remember fainting?” Harry asked him, feeling worried. Though in this position, it was hard to feel anything aside from Malfoy’s _closeness_. His body pressed against his, his breath coming out in puffs on his face. 

Malfoy shook his head. 

“Well, then I should probably take you.” Harry began walking, but Malfoy grabbed onto his collar from across his shoulder and _yanked_. 

“No!” he exclaimed. 

“Where should I take you, then? You clearly aren’t well enough to walk on your own, you’re leaning on me like your life depends on it.” 

Malfoy sighed. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he began to sink into Harry. 

“No, no, no, Malfoy. Stay awake. I need you to stay awake.” 

“Can you take me to the kitchens?” 

“The kitchens? What on earth for?” 

Malfoy deadpanned him. “Really, Potter? To eat.” 

Oh. 

_Oh_. 

“Okay . . .” Harry said, unsure to what extent this problem went. He knew this was absolutely point blank none of his business, and if Malfoy in his normal state remembered that Harry had seen him like this he’d probably get Obliviated. But he couldn’t help but feel invested, feel worried, like this was somewhat his responsibility now. 

“You . . . Need to eat? But we just had breakfast.” He couldn’t help but want to pry a bit, see how far Malfoy in this state would let him go. 

“Skipped it,” Malfoy said flatly, standing up a bit taller. 

“You did? Why?” 

Malfoy sighed, letting go of Potter and standing up on his own. “Because I wasn’t hungry.” Then he wobbled again. 

“Stop _doing_ that-” Harry grabbed him by his waist, pulled him flush against his side, and wrapped Malfoy’s arm around his shoulder once again. “Stay like that.” 

“M’kay. You’re bossy, Potter.” The two began walking, Malfoy staggering on his feet but walking all the same. 

Harry knew better than to push more. Malfoy clearly wasn’t himself, and to pry 

any further would toe the line into taking advantage. If Malfoy wanted to lie to him and tell him he just _wasn’t hungry_ , he would have to accept it. The information wasn’t his to challenge. 

“Miss my friends,” Malfoy mumbled into his shoulder. Harry stopped. He _what?_

“You miss your friends?” Harry asked him. “Can I ask why?” 

“No.” Harry expected as much. 

Malfoy wasn’t giving him much to work with, here. But turns out Harry needn’t have asked. For, as they were walking, Malfoy provided somewhat of an answer of his own. 

“They hate me. And I understand why.” 

“Surely they don’t hate you.” 

“Noo, they do.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s personal.” 

They kept walking, getting closer. Malfoy surprised him again. 

“You were the first person I ever told. About the Dark Lord making me torture Mother.” 

Harry stopped. He looked at the boy before him, practically loopy and unsteady on his feet. His face was white as a sheet, and his eyes had lost all life. 

His heart _clenched_ from hearing this information, and not only because he knew regular-Malfoy would never tell him. 

“Malfoy . . .” 

“I should tell you more things. About me. Makes me feel better.” 

Harry’s eyes widened. His heart fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. 

“That so?” 

“Yes.” 

He waited for Malfoy to respond, but no more was spoken from him as they completed their journey to the kitchens. He pulled open the door, to find Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson digging through drawers on the right hand side. 

Parkinson jumped at the sound of someone coming in, and Zabini stood up tall to greet them. 

“Potter . . .” His eyes narrowed maliciously when he zeroed in on Malfoy. Harry wondered what that was all about. 

“What’re you doing with _him?”_ Parkinson asked Harry, voice laced with disgust. Suddenly, Harry knew what Malfoy was talking about when he said he’d missed his friends. Something was wrong. 

“Look at him,” Harry said, all but thrusting Malfoy’s body at Zabini. Startled by the harsh gesture, Zabini caught the boy and struggled to keep him upright as Malfoy staggered in his arms. 

“Did you drug him?” Parkinson asked. 

“No, why would I- Nevermind, it’s not worth it.” Harry ran a hand frustratedly through his hair. He wasn’t sure why he was getting so worked up about this, when this was really none of his business. But something compelled him to stay, to see this out. 

“Then what’s going on with him?” Zabini asked, pushing Malfoy to the counter so he could lean against it. 

“I dunno, but I brought him here because he said he needed to eat. You’re his friends, you should know what’s wrong with him.” 

“It’s . . . complicated,” said Parkinson. “And frankly, none of your business. All you need to know is, what Draco chooses to do with himself is no longer our concern.” 

“No longer your concern?” Harry parrotted. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

He was brought back to the library, where Malfoy had been so insistent on studying with him that he’d abandoned his friends immediately. How tense the atmosphere had been when he’d walked up. His mind connected the dots. Something was going on. 

“It means he’s an arrogant prat,” said Zabini. 

“Well, nobody’s arguing that,” said Harry. “But I brought Malfoy here to eat, so if neither of you will get something for him, then I will.” 

He reached behind him where Zabini was holding him with one hand flat against his chest to the counter. He looked ready to pass out again. Harry reached into a basket of fruit and pulled out a banana. 

Zabini let go of Malfoy, and Malfoy gripped the countertops tightly. Zabini stepped away. Harry took his place, standing close to the other boy, close enough to hear his uneven breaths. 

“Here,” he said softly, suddenly feeling as though they were the only two in the room. “Eat this.” 

Malfoy took the banana from him and began peeling it slowly. 

“How long has he been like this?” Zabini asked him. 

“Only a few minutes,” said Harry. “I caught him outside Potions when he was about to fucking faint. Been a charming time ever since.” 

He and Parkinson exchanged a glance. Harry could see it in their eyes; they were worried, even if they weren’t verbally letting it on. 

Malfoy ate his banana in silence. 

“He was about to faint?” Parkinson asked, voice coming out in a squeak. 

Harry nodded. 

“I don’t know what the fuck’s going on between you guys, but right now you need to set aside your differences and look after him.” 

“He’s perfectly capable of looking after himself,” said Zabini. 

“Oh, stop it, Blaise,” cried Parkinson, sounding distressed. “He is not, and you know it. He’s not eating again.” 

_Again?_

“What do you mean, again?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, so it was really no surprise when Parkinson responded with, 

“None of your fucking business, Potter.” 

“Draco,” Parkinson said harshly, marching over to him. Malfoy flinched, grip tightening on his banana. 

“Why are you doing this to us? Why aren’t you eating?” 

Malfoy’s eyes were still glazed over, but as Parkinson’s words sank in, they began to clear. 

Harry began to feel as though he were intruding on a private moment, that this entire conversation wasn’t meant for his ears. Malfoy was safe, for now; the situation had been de-escalated. He needed to go. 

“Potter, what are you doing here?” Malfoy asked him, ignoring Parkinson. Harry turned his attention to the boy, who had regained some colour in his cheeks. 

“I was just leaving.” 

“Maybe you should stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong in the first place, then you wouldn’t have to keep scrambling for ways out.” The words were harsh, biting. Malfoy was definitely back to himself. 

“Maybe _you_ should be a little more grateful when somebody tries to help you and stop acting like such a stuck up, pompous arse.” Harry was appalled. Here he was sticking his neck out for Malfoy _again_ , and this was the treatment he got? 

“Maybe it’s best if you go, Potter.” Malfoy’s tone was ice cold. His voice held none of the kindness or vulnerability it’d had on their way over. 

“For once, I agree with you,” Harry snarled, and swiftly exited the Kitchens, vowing that would be the last time he’d ever help Draco Malfoy. 

_______________

Draco placed his half-eaten banana on the counter and turned to face Blaise and Pansy, who were both looking at him with an unreadable expression. 

“Not that this hasn’t been fun, because it has,” Draco began, gathering his strength for his walk back to the common room to gather his materials for Transfigurations, “but I’m out.” 

He began to walk away, but Blaise put a hand up to stop him. Draco yelped, startled by the gesture. He’d fully expected to get out of there without a fight. 

“Not so fast.” Blaise was frowning at him, though Draco wasn’t sure why. Surely Blaise didn’t care? 

He turned to Pansy, who wore an even deeper frown. Her eyes almost looked like they were glistening, and Draco in his fevered state wasn’t sure whether it was a trick of the light. 

“You don’t get to be the victim here, Draco.” She had her full, undivided attention on him. 

“It isn’t fair to us,” Blaise added. 

Draco felt his heart thump in his chest. 

“You . . . You do this thing where you pretend like you don’t care, even though you really do, a lot, and it’s unsettling.” Pansy fiddled with a piece of her hair. 

Draco’s heart thumped harder. 

“What are the rest of us supposed to do while you mindlessly destroy yourself?” exclaimed Blaise incredulously. “Like you don’t even have a soul?” 

That one hurt. 

Draco felt frozen, like if he were to move one muscle he would explode into pieces. 

“This isn’t how you get our attention.” Pansy had softened her tone, as though she were speaking to a small child, and _no_ , she had it all _wrong_ -

“You don’t get to ask for our help when you . . . _Do_ the things you do. You’re so fucking _infuriating.”_ Blaise’s had only hardened more, and Draco flinched from the force of it. 

Pansy took a step closer to him. “I tried last time, Draco. I tried so hard, and you just got thinner and thinner-” 

“You broke his _heart,”_ said Blaise, voice torn to pieces. “And now you stand here and expect us to save you from yourself?” 

He didn’t know. He didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t-

“You look half dead already. And I can’t help you this time.” Pansy cut herself off with a strangled sob. 

“I never asked for your help, Pansy.” His words were calm, collected, the polar opposite of his heart pounding away at rabbit speed inside his ribcage. 

“I know.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “And _that’s_ the problem.” 

She was standing here crying because of him. He was sorry. He was so sorry. 

“I’m sorry, Pansy.” The words flowed out as naturally as breathing. He would apologize for the rest of his life just to get his best friend to stop crying over him. 

“No.” Pansy shook her head. “You aren’t, Draco.” 

Draco swallowed. His grip tightened on the counter. 

“You think you can just . . . play these mind games with us, and it’s sick,” said Blaise. _“You’re_ sick. You need help.” 

Pansy nodded. 

Draco felt something inside him shatter. 

“It’s not a game,” he choked out, eyes welling with tears. He would not cry. He would not cry. 

Blaise glared daggers at him. “You probably don’t even know what you’re doing to Greg, you sick son of a bitch.” 

Draco wanted to retch. His insides churned viciously. 

“Leave Greg out of this,” he said slowly, dangerously. 

“You know that he hasn’t the bollocks to call you out on your shit, unless it’s got something to do with justice for Muggleborns,” said Blaise. “So you’ve been using him. Don’t even deny it. You know it’s true.” 

Draco couldn’t deny it. It was true. 

“I didn’t ask him to be there for me. He just is. Deal with it.” 

“I’ll give you something to deal with,” Blaise took a step closer to him. Draco felt smaller under the tall boy’s glare. 

“Before long, you’ll have pushed everyone out, and you’ll have no one left to tolerate you but your miserable little self. And when that happens, when you finally _implode_ , no one will be around to pick up the pieces.” 

Draco watched, gobsmacked, as Blaise and Pansy walked out of the Kitchens, leaving him all alone. 

Once he was certain they were out of earshot, he allowed his tears the grace to fall peacefully and without interruption down his face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People interpreted the events of last chapter 2 very different ways. I got a lot of backlash, but I also got some support, and I'm grateful for it all because feedback helps me grow as an author. That being said, I intend for this story to have a happy ending and drarry is endgame

Theo gathered his materials for his next class and descended downstairs into the common room. His ears were immediately assaulted by the sound of someone sobbing, in the corner closest to the girls’ stairwell. He walked closer to investigate, and saw a familiar black bob with shaking shoulders, standing next to Blaise. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, startling Pansy, who jumped and clutched at her chest.

“Salazar, Nott.” 

“Pansy . . . Shit, someone must’ve done a real number on you.” He took a step towards the girl and rubbed her back tentatively. Much like she’d done for him early on after the whole . . . Draco situation. It had been nearly a month, but the incident still felt fresh in his mind. Draco’s look of horror. Him running off with Potter. Coming back and shutting down all of Pansy’s surprisingly innocent questions. Without so much as an apology. It had hurt him deeply. 

Pansy shook her head into his shoulder, pushing herself off him. 

“No, Theo, you don’t understand . . .” 

“There’s nothing you need to worry about, mate,” said Blaise. 

“Don’t you say that,” Pansy growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you dare fucking say that, when you know it’s not true.” 

“Should I be worried?” Theo asked lightly. He typically regarded himself as a pretty easy-going person. Worry wasn’t a word that entered his vocabulary much. Except, incidentally, when it came to Draco. 

Pansy’s face crumpled and she buried it in her hands as a fresh round of sobs wracked her shoulders.

“We were too harsh with him, Blaise,” she said into her hands, words coming out muffled. 

Blaise frowned. “I told him he needed help, and I meant it.” 

“Not that,” Pansy wailed, looking back up at him. “You told him he didn’t have a _soul_ . Who _says_ something like that?” 

“I was angry. I didn’t mean it.” 

“Who are you guys talking about?” 

“Does Draco know that?” 

“Does Draco know _what?”_ Theo asked, that very same worry beginning to creep in. Had Blaise told Draco he hadn’t had a soul? Theo may have been upset with Draco, but that was taking it way too far. 

“We’re supposed to be his friends. And I . . .” Pansy sniffed, rubbing her eyes. She looked up at Blaise. “I told him he was doing it for _attention._ Why did I say that, Blaise? Why?” 

Another sob wracked her body. 

“Doing _what_ for attention?” Theo was actually worried now. 

Pansy looked at him with a tear streaked face. “Draco’s not eating again.”

Horror crept up his spine. 

“He’s _what.”_

“He’s not eating.” Pansy dropped to the sofa. Theo heard her muffled cries. 

“How long.” His voice was low. Dangerous. 

“How long has he been doing this?” clarified Blaise. 

“How long have you _known?”_

“About a week,” said Pansy, looking up at him, dark eyes stained red. 

“A week,” Theo repeated. “A week, and you’ve done _nothing_ to help him?” 

“He never listens,” said Blaise. “I dunno why he’s playing these mind games with us, but it needs to stop because I’m getting scared for him.” 

“It isn’t a _game.”_ Theo felt anger boil inside him. “Pans, you told him he was doing it for _attention?”_

Pansy held his gaze. “In the moment, I was angry because of course he’d know we’d worry about him. I can’t understand why he does what he does.” 

“You _cannot_ understand it. It’s not meant to be understood.” Theo ran a frustrated hand through his disheveled hair. “Draco needs us right now, and all you did was push him away!” 

“He hurt you, mate. Badly, in case you’ve forgotten,” said Blaise. 

“I remember,” Theo seethed. 

“You really want to go crawling back to him because he’s putting on a pity show?” 

“It’s not a pity show, Blaise, for the love of Merlin.” Theo didn’t know what he wanted to do. All he knew was that right now, Draco’s health was more important than any fight they’d had, and that Pansy and Blaise may have just made a huge mistake. 

“Is he still down there? In the kitchens?” 

“Yes . . .” Pansy sighed. “We left him down there.” 

“You left him down there? By himself? In that state?” 

His cruel words he’d spoken to Draco out of hurt and anger echoed in his mind. 

_You make me sick_. 

“If he’s not eating, then what on earth was he doing in the bloody kitchens?” asked Theo. 

“Potter brought him down,” said Blaise. “Said he needed to eat something. Said that he’d fainted.” 

_Merlin_. 

“Did you ask Potter any questions? See if Draco told him anything about what’s been going on?” 

“No,” said Pansy. “I said what Draco decides to do to his body is no longer our concern. I said that because at the end of the day, he has to choose. Whether he wants to get better.” 

“But it _is_ our concern,” said Theo. “We’re supposed to be his friends. We’re supposed to be there for him. Why didn’t you tell me? I could have talked to him.” 

“I tried so hard last time to be there for him, and all he did was push me away,” Pansy said with a choked sob. “I can’t help him anymore.” 

“We didn’t want to upset you, mate,” said Blaise. “Everything he did to you is still really fresh, and we didn’t want to see you torturing yourself over someone that doesn’t want to be helped.” 

“How do you know that he doesn’t want to be helped? Have you asked him?” 

Pansy and Blaise exchanged an uncomfortable glance. 

“Have you asked him?” 

“Not exactly.” 

“How long ago did this happen?” 

“Just now.” 

“I’m going to talk to him.” 

“Theo.” 

“No, Blaise. I _need_ to talk to him.” Clearly, based on this conversation, Draco wasn’t okay, and Theo was beginning to realize that it may have been entirely their fault. 

“Just be careful, Theo. I don’t want to see him hurting you again.” 

“I don’t think I’m capable of getting my feelings hurt right now,” Theo said quietly. “I’m just worried. And angry with you lot for not fucking telling me.” 

“Because we knew you’d react this way-” Pansy started, but Theo cut her off. 

“What, try to actually _help_ him instead of pushing him away? Did you even give him the chance to explain why he pushed me away, Pansy? Did you?” 

Pansy opened her mouth, then closed it again. 

Theo’s lip curled into something ugly. “You told me you had a conversation with him, where he admitted he didn’t have feelings for me because he didn’t have time to figure it out.” 

“He shouldn’t need time to figure it out. That he either does, or he doesn’t. Isn’t that how you feel, too, Theo?” 

“Yes, but-” 

“He said it was all so much, and that there was no time. That told me everything I needed to know.” 

“You didn’t tell me that part. _What_ was all so much? Where did he say explicitly he doesn’t have feelings for me?” 

“I dunno, I don’t live inside Draco’s head, even though it feels like half the time he _expects_ me to! And I suppose he didn’t _explicitly_ say it, though his actions more than-” 

“But he didn’t explicitly say it. So we still don’t know his side.” 

“You’re the one who got angry at him,” said Blaise. “We’re on your side because he hurt you, and he didn’t apologize. When Pansy confronted him, he just made excuse after excuse.” 

“In the room, after we shagged, he told me he wasn’t ready. That he needed time,” said Theo. “And I . . .” A realization hung over his head, dampening his spirits like a grey cloud of rain. “I threw that right back in his face.” 

Pansy frowned. “You didn’t tell me he told you he needed time.” 

“I was angry, and hurt,” said Theo. “And I think we all made a huge mistake.” 

_____________

Draco had slumped down the countertop to a sitting position. He’d drawn his knees into his chest and put his head down as he cried. 

Blaise was right. He’d pushed away everyone that had meant something to him, including Potter. Draco choked on a sob as he realized that had to mean he’d cared somewhat for the green-eyed boy. Though, he supposed with a twist of his gut, it didn’t matter anymore. 

He thought of Pansy. Memories of them running through the gardens of the Manor passed through his mind one by one like an animated flipbook. He remembered all the times he squeezed her hand, kissed her cheek, how fun dancing with her at the Yule Ball had been. Merlin, how he missed her. 

Suddenly, a pair of footsteps interrupted his inner tirade of thoughts. Draco scrambled to his feet and scrubbed viciously at his eyes, though he knew little could be done to aid their reddening. Whoever he was about to encounter would know he’d been crying. 

A tall, slim figure with messy brown hair emerged into view. It was Theo. 

Draco’s heart began jackhammering. 

“Draco . . .” It sounded so broken, so wrecked, and before Draco realized what was happening Theo rushed to him and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Draco froze, wondering if this was some sort of cruel trick. Theo’s arms felt so _good_ wrapped around him. No one had hugged him like this in a very long time. Or maybe ever. 

So against all better judgment, Draco gingerly lifted his arms and began hugging him back. That set a dam loose in Theo. Theo wrapped him up even more tightly, bringing one hand to rest against the back of his head. Draco sighed shakily into the embrace, breathing in Theo’s scent. He felt fresh tears prick at his eyes, and furiously blinked them away. 

If it were a trick, Draco wished he had the willpower to push Theo off him, but he currently did not. 

“Draco,” he said again, rougher, against his hair. “I’m so sorry.” 

Draco’s shoulders shook. _He_ should be the one apologizing. Freezing up in the hug, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, he on instinct began attempting to loosen himself from Theo’s grip. Theo let him go, of course, but did not back away. 

“Draco, look at me.” 

Draco obeyed. 

Shimmering brown eyes looked down at him. Theo looked more terrified than Draco had ever seen him. Terrified of . . . _him?_

“I didn’t give you a chance to explain.” 

Draco swallowed thickly. He was right- he hadn’t. But that didn’t mean Draco hadn’t acted cruelly. 

“I should be the one apologizing,” Draco said as steadily as he could. “I know I hurt you.” 

“Draco . . .” Theo took a hesitant step closer to him. He picked up one of Draco’s wrists. Draco let him. Theo rubbed small circles into his pulse point. Draco shuddered. Theo eventually moved up to hold his hand. Draco gripped tight. 

“What’s hurting me is seeing you do this to yourself.” 

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I dunno if the others are worried about me, or-” 

“Pansy’s in hysterics.” 

Draco frowned. _Oh_. 

“And Blaise, he’s . . . Being overprotective over me. But I know he’s worried. About you. Really worried.” 

_Certainly didn’t seem like it_. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” said Draco. 

“I know. And he owes you an apology. They both do.” 

“Fat chance that’ll happen.” 

Theo sighed. “You don’t realize that people care about you, Draco.” 

_Then why hadn’t they acted like it?_

He felt the tears again. “That wasn’t why I pushed you away.” 

“I know. But I’m just telling you, because you deserve to know.” 

Draco felt the cold layer of ice around his heart begin to thaw, just the smallest amount. What had he done to deserve this man’s kindness? 

“Thank you, Theo.” 

Theo kept looking at him. “Did Potter get you something to eat, when he brought you here?” 

Draco nodded. “Yes, but I couldn’t finish it.” 

“That’s okay. What’s important is that you started.” 

Draco felt the oncomings of a soft smile. He couldn’t resist. He allowed the muscles to react and pull upwards. 

Theo smiled back. “I haven’t seen you smile in a while. It suits you, y’know.” 

Draco felt his smile widen at the kind words. They were still holding hands. He looked down at their entwined fingers. Then back up into his patient brown eyes. 

“I shouldn’t have just run off with Potter; that was immature of me,” Draco said, feeling serious again. 

Theo frowned. “You told me you weren’t ready, that you needed time. But the way things played out in the library made it seem like you were ashamed of us, were ashamed of _me_. That’s what hurt the most, I think. That after all these years of wanting you, you finally wanted me back and then suddenly, you didn’t.” 

Shame washed over Draco like a wave. “I didn’t think about how my actions would make you feel, and for that I am truly sorry, Theo.” 

“But I didn’t respect what you told me in the room; your boundary. You weren’t _ready_. I shouldn’t have expected you to be ready so suddenly like that.” 

“It all happened so fast,” said Draco, needing Theo to hear this. “I had no time to even think about what I wanted before Potter was there and he would’ve known that I was bent, and it was just too much.” 

“Draco. It’s _okay.”_ Theo looked him deep in the eyes, and Draco saw nothing but sincerity shine in those brown irises. “It’s okay.” 

Hearing those words thawed a little more of the ice. He smiled again. 

Theo took one hand and cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry about what I said to you, Draco. I’m so sorry.” 

Draco trembled under the intimacy of the gesture. He scrambled to think of a way to respond, when something suddenly registered to him. 

“Wait, but that guy . . . With the black hair. I’ve seen you-” 

“He’s a friend.” Theo shook his head fondly. “Why, are you _jealous?”_

“No,” Draco said hotly, but surely his blushing cheeks gave him away. 

“Liar.” 

“Prat.” 

Now both boys wore matching smiles, and Draco wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but their lips met, soft and gentle. A few seconds later Theo pulled away. 

“Been wanting to do that for a while.” 

Draco sighed. Maybe Theo could help get his friends to come around, after all. 

“Me, too.” 

Theo squeezed his hand. “Well, that works out quite nicely, doesn’t it?” 

Draco leaned back against the countertop, pulling Theo with him and into another kiss. It was intoxicating, the feeling of another’s lips on his. He craved more. Eventually, Draco broke the kiss, because they weren’t finished with their conversation. 

“Do you really think they hate me, then?” 

“Draco . . .” Theo stroked his hair soothingly. Draco found himself unconsciously leaning into the touch. He loved when people stroked his hair. “They made a mistake. They do not hate you.” 

“You didn’t hear. What they said.” 

“I did, somewhat. They were talking about it. Pansy regrets every word that came out of her mouth.” 

Draco tightened his grip on Theo’s hand. They still hadn’t let go, which Draco was most grateful for right now. 

“And Blaise?”

“He’ll come around. Like I said, he’s really worried about you but still more protective over me.” 

“Then I want nothing to do with him until he sees reason,” said Draco pointedly. Theo nodded slowly. 

“Neither do I.” 

Draco’s eyes widened. 

“I’m with you on this, Draco. All the way.” Theo’s hand squeezed his again, and he pulled him in for one more tender kiss that seemed to melt time itself. Draco felt the tension in his muscles slowly ebb away. 

Their lips slowly parted, and Draco found himself getting lost in those brown eyes that looked at him with such fondness, adoration. 

“Will you start coming with us to breakfast again?” Theo asked him gently. “I want you there. With me.” 

Draco found himself nodding. He wouldn’t get better if he didn’t try. Now he had somebody else believing in him; that made him want to believe in himself. 

“Great.” Theo grinned. But then his smile fell. “You’re not gonna like this next part, though.” 

“Which is?” 

“I want us to talk to Pansy and Blaise. If you’re up for it.” 

_If he were up for it,_ like Nott was talking about a game of Quidditch. 

“Erm . . .” Draco’s stomach began twisting and folding. But he knew that if he didn’t face them and stand his ground, he would never fully heal. “Alright.” 

Theo’s face relaxed. “Really? Merlin, Draco, I’m so proud of you. Okay.” 

“It’s nothing to be proud of.” 

“Are you joking? It _is_ something to be proud of. And if you decide afterwards you do not want to be their friend, I’ll be here. You have me.” 

Draco’s heart was going to burst. He smiled again, this time feeling the smallest tears pool at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything. Just kiss me, you sodding wanker.” 

So he did.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another gentle reminder that updates will be slowing down now that I am back at uni. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy the chapter :)

Draco couldn’t seem to calm his thumping heart as he and Theo made the walk back to the eighth year common room, hands laced together. Draco was positive he was sweating. He felt as though he were on display, however ridiculous the notion may have seemed. He almost felt like Theo’s  _ property _ . The idea had Draco’s stomach doing somersaults because he didn’t know if he  _ liked _ it or not. 

“Something on your mind?” Theo’s gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts. 

Draco looked at him as they walked. He held onto Theo’s hand tighter as he talked. “Just this. Us.” 

Theo smiled, and it warmed Draco’s heart. For years it seemed, he had done nothing but make people worry and frown over him. Making somebody smile felt like the first fresh dewdrops on the delicate blossoms of spring. It rejuvenated him. 

“C’mere.” Theo pressed a chaste kiss onto his temple. Draco’s chest fluttered. He wasn’t used to such blatant affection. 

“You alright?” Theo asked him. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Draco told him point-blank. 

“I know.” 

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“Neither do I, really. I may be . . . erm, experienced, but I don’t know the first thing about a relationship. I just know I really fancy you, have for a while.” 

“You weren’t subtle about it.” 

Theo blushed.  _ “You _ didn’t know how much of a tease you were.” 

“Oh, I did.” 

“So you think we could figure this thing out together? You and me?” 

Draco squeezed his hand instead of answering. He rubbed circles on Theo’s thumb. But he should have known that wouldn’t be enough to placate him. 

“Gonna need you to start eating again, though.” 

Draco’s hand slacked in Theo’s grip. He stopped walking, turning to face Theo. 

“It isn’t that easy.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t think you do.” 

“Not personally, no. But there are ways to get better. Take it as slow as you need. Small meals, as long as you’re eating  _ something _ . Salazar, Draco, when I stopped seeing you in the Great Hall I didn’t know what to do. I was a big baby and let my feelings get in the way when you were clearly struggling.” 

Draco sighed. He really didn’t want to have this emotionally taxing conversation right now, when they were on their way to see Pansy and Blaise for even more emotionally taxing conversation. But he slipped his hand back into Theo’s anyway, and pulled him along to continue walking. He wanted to get this conversation with Pansy and Blaise over with, because his anxiety was killing him. 

“You were hurting. I hurt you. I treated you awfully after we . . .  _ y’know _ , and you deserved to feel how you felt.” 

“I misunderstood you. I thought you were ashamed of _ me _ . I didn’t even think about Potter.” 

“I was never ashamed of you,” Draco admitted quietly. “Theo, I think I really like you.” 

“You  _ think?”  _

Draco smirked. “Shut up.”

“I never formally apologized to you about forgetting to use protection,” Theo said quietly as they walked. 

Draco tensed. It had been just as much his fault as Theo’s, but he understood why Theo felt responsible. 

“How many people have you fucked?” he asked instead. 

Theo blanched from the sheer bluntness of the question.  _ “Merlin, _ Draco, I dunno, er, like five? Six?” 

“Six?” 

“Didn’t realize this was turning into a lecture,” Theo mumbled crossly. 

“It’s not. I think I have the right to know after you fucked me unprotected.” 

Theo sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Draco.” 

Draco shook his head. “I was so caught up in all my, erm . . . feelings, the way you were treating me, that I completely forgot.” 

“You make it easy to forget,” said Theo. “You make it so damn easy.” 

They received a few stares on their way back to the common room, but neither boy paid the perpetrators any mind. In fact, Theo shot daggers into one girl’s eyes as he pressed another kiss onto Draco’s temple. Draco had promptly blushed. 

By the time they reached the common room, Draco’s heart rate had heightened unhealthily. Sweat pooled in his palms, and he felt the first tendrils of panic claw at his chest. 

“Hey.” Theo let go of his hand and held onto Draco’s shoulders. “Look at me.” 

Draco looked. 

“It will be okay. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.” 

“It’s not that simple, Theo,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. 

“Just breathe for a second, alright?” Theo steered him into the wall, letting him lean back. “In and out, just like this. Watch me.” 

He drew in a deep breath, held it for four seconds, and slowly released it. 

How had Theo known he was on the verge of a panic attack? Draco needed to hide his tells better; this was humiliating. Nonetheless, Draco mimicked the action and breathed deeply, slowly. He would not admit that he immediately felt better, calmer. 

“Good. Again.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. Was Theo kidding? Apparently not, for Theo said in response, “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Draco. Just do it.” 

Draco drew in another breath, this one deeper than the last. He held for four seconds, just as Theo had, then he slowly released it. 

“Good. Is that better?” 

Draco glared, before nodding ever so slightly. 

“Are you ready to go inside?” 

“Yes.” 

Theo looked at him as though he didn’t believe him. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do this right now if you aren’t ready, Draco.” 

“We need to,” said Draco, eyes widening. “Theo, they  _ hate _ me, and if I don’t do it now then I’ll never-” 

“They  _ acted _ like they hated you because they were scared. They don’t know how to help you.” 

“I don’t need their help.” 

“Maybe not theirs.” 

Draco’s face hardened into a practised stone mask. “We aren’t having this conversation right now.” 

“Fine. We won’t. But if you go in there thinking _they_ won’t address the issue of you needing help, you’re a fool.” 

“They had their chance to help me. They wasted it.” 

“Please, Draco, hear them out. At least Pansy. If you don’t want to talk to Blaise today, I understand that.” 

“I-I dunno if I can face him,” Draco confessed quietly, heart doing little spurts again. He felt his breathing pick back up. “He-He s-said, he said-” 

“What? What did he say, Draco?” 

“He . . . said I don’t have a soul.” 

Theo’s face darkened. “I remember Pansy telling me that. I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything else. She told me Blaise said he was angry, that he didn’t mean it.” 

Draco took words to heart. In his book, if someone said something to him, they meant it. Out of anger or otherwise. 

“Oh,” was all he said. 

“Oh?” 

“You two are close. I hurt you. He had the right to be angry at me.” 

“But, Draco, you aren’t  _ eating _ , and he  _ knew-” _

“Guess we’ll have to see if he’ll own up to it, won’t we?” Draco asked flippantly. 

“I’m beginning to think this isn’t such a good idea,” said Theo. “I’m angry with Blaise now, properly angry, and I honestly want to hit him for even thinking of saying that to you.” 

“Theo, please. Don’t.” 

Theo cupped Draco’s cheeks, speaking against his lips. “He hurt you,” he said darkly. “That makes me want to hurt him.” 

“I hurt you,” Draco choked out. “Wouldn’t that make you want to hurt me?” 

Theo shook his head, keeping his hands where they were. “Never, Draco, never would I want to hurt you. Those things I said . . . I was so vile, so cruel. You had just thrown me under the Midnight Bus, and I was so hurt I didn’t mean a single thing. I did want to hurt you then, as you had hurt me. But that was wrong. You hadn’t meant to hurt me, you were just scared. Draco, I swear it, I will never hurt you again.” 

“Never?” Draco breathed, all air in his lungs gone from their closeness. “That’s a big word.” 

“Mean it.” Theo pressed his lips to Draco’s, and held them there for a long moment. Draco trembled. When Theo’s lips parted from his own, he gasped for breath. 

“You don’t know how responsive you are to my touch,” Theo said quietly against his lips. “Drives me crazy.” 

Draco felt the early onsets of arousal stir in the pit of his gut. Now was not the time. They were about to have a serious conversation with people that may or may not still be his friends. He needed to ground himself. 

“Later,” Draco settled on, gently and with all the willpower he could muster pushing Theo off. “Trust me, I want you, too. I want to do what we did, again. But later.” 

Theo’s eyes darkened. “Forget the conversation. Pansy deserves to wallow in her misery longer. I want you now.” 

“Theo . . . I built up the courage to come here. It wasn’t easy for me. We need to do this now.” 

Theo sighed, grasping Draco’s hand in his own, bringing his knuckles up to his lips and lightly kissing each one. “You’re right. We can do this now,” he murmured into his knuckle, vibrations shooting up Draco’s arm. 

“Okay.” 

Theo gently placed down Draco’s wrist and flashed a smile at him. “After you, handsome.” 

Draco flushed, but obeyed all the same. 

“Follow me,” Theo murmured into his ear as they walked inside. Theo led him toward the back, where a tear-streaked Pansy sat by herself, arms wrapped around her torso. Blaise sat in the chair next to her, expression stoic. 

“Pansy.” Draco noticed Theo averted from calling her by her nickname, also noted the harshness of his tone. 

Pansy flinched at him, but her eyes widened to the size of quarters when she saw Draco. She stood up. 

“Draco . . . Can I talk to you in private?” 

“No,” said Theo. He took Draco’s hand and laced it in his, for them both to clearly see. “Anything you have to say to Draco, you can say in front of me.” 

Blaise stood up and approached the pair. “Mate . . .” 

“Don’t ‘mate’ me. I’m not finished with you,” Theo growled. 

Pansy frowned. “I’m trying really hard to reign in my excitement for you guys, because I know now is not the time.” 

“You’d be right about that. A few things need to happen first, don’t you think?” said Theo. 

Pansy lowered her head. 

“Draco isn’t well,” said Blaise. Draco flinched. Theo gripped his hand tighter. “He needs help, and we can’t give it to him.” 

“You wouldn’t know; you didn’t even try, did you?” Theo challenged him. 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, Blaise,” said Draco coldly. Blaise glared at him. 

“Alright,  _ Draco _ ,” Blaise seethed. “I understand sixth year, but I cannot think of one good enough reason you had to stop eating this time. Our reaction to you wasn’t that off base, you know. You really hurt Theo.” 

“I know I hurt him. And as to why I stopped eating, I couldn’t help it,” said Draco. “I don’t know how to make it stop.” 

“You always reject our attempts to help you,” said Pansy. “It makes us think you don’t want to get better.” 

“That’s not true, Pansy.” 

“Your actions paint a different story.” 

“Draco was a different person, then,” said Theo. “War changed us all, now, didn’t it?” 

Pansy frowned. “Please, can I talk to Draco alone?” 

“Absolutely not,” Theo said at the same time Draco said “Yes.” 

Draco and Theo looked at each other. 

“Surely I don’t need to ask you for permission to let me speak to her, do I?” 

“If she thinks I’m letting you out of my sight right now she’s mad.” 

“Theo. Please.” 

Theo sighed, and his grip on Draco’s hand slackened. “Fine.” 

Draco smiled softly at him, and pressed a kiss on his cheek as a thank-you. 

Flushing, Theo let go of him. 

“Let’s sit over here.” Pansy led him to a few chairs in front of the fire. Draco was surprised they could score these; usually, the chairs by the fire were always taken. 

They sat across from each other. Pansy had a look in her eyes Draco couldn’t quite detect. It unnerved him. 

“Draco. I don’t know what to say.” 

“I can’t help you there.” 

Pansy sighed. “I was too harsh with you in the kitchens. And here, when we last talked one on one.” 

“Harsh?” Draco mocked savagely. “You’re too hard on yourself, Pans.” 

“Stop it. Please.” Pansy’s eyes were glistening.  _ Why _ did she keep insisting on crying over him? Surely he wasn’t that important to her? 

“Pansy, your eyes.” The words came out weak. 

“Oh.” Pansy gingerly wiped them. “Sorry. I’m just . . . Really worried. About you.” 

“I’ve gotten that much. Telling me I starve myself for attention really sealed the deal for me, y’know, really hit that point home.” 

“I shouldn’t have cut you off when you were trying to explain your side,” Pansy began, Draco’s ice cold sarcasm rolling right off her. “That was my first mistake.” 

“Oh, so we’re admitting to making multiple mistakes, are we?” 

“Draco.” 

Draco, unable to stop himself, put his head in his fist as though he were genuinely thinking. “Seems as though you’ve got two brain cells left to rub together, then.” 

“Draco . . .” 

“How about when you threw my apology right back in my face and said I enjoyed being the victim?” Draco leaned forward. “Loved that.” 

Pansy sighed. “You aren’t gonna make this easy for me, are you.” 

“Do I ever?” 

“Draco, seeing you like that . . . it reminded me of sixth year, when you pushed me away, and it made us angry. Angry that we couldn’t help you then, and scared that we can’t now.” 

“You sure had a funny way of showing it. Immediately taking his side without even properly coming to me. What the fuck, Pansy?” 

“You really hurt him. We all knew he liked you. I’ve been dropping you hints for years, but for some reason you brushed them all off. I never knew why you pushed him away after I caught you guys in the broom closet; he was crazy about you.” 

“I found him with someone else,” Draco admitted quietly. “And before you ask, he told me why he went to someone else. He thought that me running away meant I was walking out forever.” 

“Sure seemed that way, if I’m being honest,” said Pansy. “Just like it seemed like you were walking away forever when you ran off with Potter.” 

Draco lowered his head in shame. 

“But this isn’t about that,” Pansy said. “This is about your health. I can’t help you, Draco, we both know that. If you want to be well, then you will make that happen on your own.” 

Draco didn’t know how to explain to her how untrue that was. How easy it was for him to slip into days of not even wanting to move out of bed, much less drag himself all the way to the Great Hall for a meal. But he spared her the trouble. 

“I can’t do it alone,” he said softly to the floor. 

“Oh, Draco . . . Of course you can’t. I’m so sorry. I know how badly we hurt you, and I’m sorry for ignoring you when you needed me the most.” 

“I’m going to need time,” he said, looking up at her. “I forgive you, Pansy. But I need time.” 

Pansy smiled softly. “That’s good enough for me. C-Can I hug you now, if that’s alright?” 

Draco most certainly did not want to hug her. “Honestly, Pans, I don’t think . . . We’re not there just yet.” 

Pansy’s face fell. “Oh. Okay. I understand.” She quickly plastered a smile back on to cover her disappointment, though they both knew he’d seen. “So, now you’ve gotta tell me everything about Theo. I want details.” 

Draco felt the corners of his lips pull up in a smile. He allowed them. 

“Look at you, you’re blushing! If I’d known how much you liked him, I wouldn’t have given you such a hard time in the first place.” 

“Pansy . . .” 

“Tell me what happened. What all did you guys do? Did you go all the way? Who topped-” 

“Pansy.” Draco gave her a pointed look, hoping to convey without words that he wasn’t ready yet. Pansy wouldn’t be his gossip for a while; he needed time to rebuild trust. 

“Oh. We’re not there. I see.” Pansy fiddled with her fingers. “Don’t worry, Draco. I’ll pry it out of you eventually.” She smirked lightly, but Draco could tell the gesture was strained. He only felt a little bad. 

“We’ll get there,” Draco assured her. “I just need time.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m . . . going to start coming to breakfast with you guys again.” 

Pansy smiled, a genuine smile. “Draco, that’s wonderful. I don’t expect you to get better overnight, but you don’t know what it means to me that you’re trying.” 

Draco felt another smile come on, and he was almost tempted to rip his boundary to shreds and tell Pansy everything, how marvelous Theo’s hands had felt on him and how gently Theo had worked him open, how  _ roughly _ he had fucked him, how something that was forbidden in his home had felt so right. But he didn’t. 

“Blaise owes you an apology,” Pansy continued. 

“Just because I’m owed one doesn’t mean I’ll get one.” 

“Stay right here.” 

Moments later, Pansy returned with Theo and Blaise. Blaise looked far less angry than he had when Draco had first seen him. He wondered what kind of influence Theo had on his change in demeanor. 

“Draco.” 

“Blaise.” 

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t have a soul, and I’m sorry I said you were playing mind games.” The apology almost sounded robotic. Draco didn’t want  _ this _ . 

“Blaise-” 

“You hurt my mate, but we turned our backs when you were hurting and for that I apologize.” 

“Blaise, you really don’t have to do this.” Clearly, Theo had coerced Blaise somehow into apologizing because he thought it would make Draco happy. It didn’t make Draco happy. It made him very upset. 

Blaise stole a glance at Theo. Then he resumed eye contact with Draco. 

Draco looked into his dark eyes for any hint of sincerity, of  _ humanity _ . 

“Are you really sorry, Blaise? Or are you just saying you are?” 

“Draco, you stomped on my best mate’s heart. I dunno how else you expected me to react. I had to be there for him.” 

“So to get this straight, you  _ aren’t _ sorry for telling me I had no soul and for saying I play mind games.” 

“I was angry, Draco.” 

“I get angry, too, Blaise. Doesn’t give you the excuse to say things you don’t mean.” 

“I know.” Blaise could no longer maintain eye contact. But after a swift elbow in the ribs from Theo, he looked back up. 

“I really am sorry, Draco. Pansy and I want to see you getting better, and that includes coming back to meals with us. You always have a spot with us.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yes. You do.” 

Draco looked to Theo, then at Pansy, then back at Blaise. 

“Okay, then. You’re forgiven, Blaise.” He coolly turned around and began walking off. He heard footsteps behind him, followed by an urgent voice. 

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Theo. 

“Anywhere but here.” 

“Why?” Theo grasped onto his wrist, forcing him to stop. Draco attempted to yank his wrist out of Theo’s grip, but Theo was stronger. 

“Because that was the worst attempt of an apology I have ever seen. If you forced him to apologize to me just to make me happy, know that you have failed. Miserably.” 

He attempted a second time to break his wrist free. He was not successful. 

“Draco,” Theo frowned, “I didn’t do it to make you _ happy _ . I did it because it was the right thing to do.” 

Now Draco felt cross. “Real apologies aren’t forced by somebody else’s hand. They happen on their  _ own.”  _

“He owed it to you. It was going to happen whether he liked it or not.” 

“But don’t you see that it means  _ nothing _ since he didn’t actually believe it?” 

“He meant it. He’s just cross it took a bit of convincing.” 

“I can’t believe you. Let go of me.” 

Theo listened, and Draco instantly whipped around and began walking away. 

“Wait!” Theo called. 

Draco turned around. 

“Please, come back over and talk to us. Please.” 

Draco sighed.  _ “Fine.”  _

He reluctantly followed Theo back over to an uncomfortable Blaise and a freshly crying Pansy. 

“I want you back,” she said, swallowing a sob. “I want to talk to you about Theo and anything else going on in your life worth knowing about. I want to gossip with you again and go through magazines together. I want my best friend back.” 

Draco swallowed a lump in his throat. 

“It isn’t that easy, Pans,” he said as gently as he could. 

Pansy nodded, wiping her eyes. “I know. But please, at least tell me you’re coming back for meals. All of them.” 

Draco’s stomach flipped. They would all be watching him eat, be watching how little he was able to put away before he was uncomfortably full . . . 

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll come back for meals.” 

Pansy hiccupped and nodded. Blaise bowed his head. 

“If you need your space, Draco, you’ll have it,” he said. “For as long as you need. And I won’t even look at your plate. That’s your business. Showing up and trying is all you can do right now, and I think that’s a huge step.” 

Draco couldn’t help himself. He smiled softly. 

“Thank you.” 

Blaise nodded. 

The group dispersed, gathering their materials for their next classes. After Blaise and Greg had left the room, Theo ran over to Draco and wrapped his arms around him from behind, hands hugging his hips. 

“I’m proud of you, y’know that?” 

Draco relaxed into the embrace. Theo planted a kiss on his neck. Draco shivered, sensitive to the touch. Theo’s arms tightened around him, hands covering his stomach. 

“I know.” 

“No, really, I’m not just saying that because I like you or whatever. I mean it.” 

“You are?” The words came out small, and since when had he ever needed anybody’s approval? Draco wasn’t sure if he was okay with all these new feelings he was experiencing. 

“Yes.” 

They stayed like that for a little while. Eventually, Theo let go of him and Draco turned around to plant a kiss on his waiting lips. Theo tried to deepen it, to prod his tongue inside his mouth, but Draco pulled away. 

“Uh, uh, uh.” 

“Mmm, why not? We got about an hour before our next class.” 

“I’m mentally exhausted, and I’m not in the mood.” 

Theo huffed. Draco resisted the urge to snort. It was rather adorable. 

“You are such a tease, Draco Malfoy.” 

Draco tossed him a wink. “Only for you.” 


	13. Chapter 13

Draco could tell that everyone was doing their best not to glance at his plate. He ate slowly, for he wasn’t even hungry but had promised Pansy that he’d try. One hand held his fork while the other was laced with Theo’s under the table. 

They chatted lightly, and Draco forced himself to contribute as much as he could to the conversation. Politeness would be the extent of his nature with Pansy and Blaise for some time. Until they proved with their actions they were sorry, Draco would stick to friendly pleasantries and keep his authenticity discreetly tucked away. 

He finished everything he put on his plate. 

“You did well,” Theo told him quietly as they exited the Hall. 

“I don’t need praise for finishing a fucking meal.” 

Theo frowned. “I wasn’t-” 

“I’d really prefer it if we could just skip the charity, Theo.” 

“You aren’t charity.” 

“Then why does it feel like I am?” 

“Because you’re not used to people noticing when you improve, are you?” 

“I don’t think I’ve had a reason to.” 

“Fair enough. But take it or leave it, you did well.” 

“Don’t expect a thank you.” 

“Wasn’t.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Theo’s tone had grown more serious. Draco swallowed. 

“Am I allowed to say no?” He tried at a jest. 

“You’re always allowed to say no. But, I’d really like to ask.” 

“Okay.” 

“Did you stop eating because of me?” 

Draco’s expression hardened. 

“Because, I know I said some really awful things to you, but, like, if you were really struggling, then I don’t want you to think I wouldn’t have-” 

“I wasn’t going to come to you after what you said to me.” 

“I understand.” 

“You made me feel like I was worthless.” 

“I know.” Theo toyed with his hair. And then, “You didn’t answer the question, Draco.” 

“I’m not a fan of rhetorical questions.” 

Theo sighed. 

“I’m also not a fan of the way you phrased the question. You make it sound like there was some sort of choice in the matter, that I consciously decided.” 

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

“So your body just stopped giving you an appetite. Because of me.” Theo looked like he was going to be sick. 

“Because of all of it. Potter nearly finding out I’m gay, you, Pansy, Blaise. For Salazar’s sake, Theo, no one listened to me.” 

“Why do you have a problem with Potter finding out if you’re gay?” 

Draco’s heart thumped hard in his chest. “I-I dunno, it’s just that’s private information and he’s not someone I particularly fancy. The idea of him knowing that about me doesn’t sit right with me.” 

“I understand that. But, Draco, if you’re proud of your sexuality, and I mean really proud, you wouldn’t care who knows.” 

Draco didn’t know how to explain to Theo that he wasn’t sure he was proud, that even after years of knowing he wasn’t straight he still felt the backends of shame. His father certainly wouldn’t accept him; he had told him point-blank time and time again that he was to produce an heir, and anything less would not be acceptable. He felt that in his sexuality, he had somehow failed his family. It made him miserable. Things would certainly be easier for him if he were straight. 

“It’s not that I’m ashamed of myself. I just don’t want the entire school knowing. Potter would talk.” 

“For how much you hate him, I dunno if the bloke’s as bad as you think. I hear he’s a really loyal mate and always has people’s backs. If he somehow found out something that wasn’t his business, I doubt he’d gossip about it.” 

“I don’t hate him,” he said, rather defensively. 

“Do you?” Theo asked curiously. “Because every time you talk about him, you look like you wish he were dead.” 

Draco’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t wish that.” He didn’t think he could ever wish that about anybody, except maybe the Dark Lord. Who was dead. 

“Okay,” said Theo. 

“I’m not ashamed of myself,” Draco said again, unsure who he was trying to convince more. 

Theo glanced at him skeptically. “I never said you were.” 

“I know you didn’t. I’m just communicating that I’m not so that there’s not any confusion.” 

“I appreciate that, but I feel like we’re talking in circles. If you aren’t ashamed of yourself, why is it such a big deal if Potter finds out? He’s going to find out eventually, if we continue what we’re doing.” 

It was a big deal because Potter would see him differently, and Draco didn’t want that. He’d rather Potter see him as the villain he was than anything remotely real, remotely human. It was easier to keep him at a distance that way. 

Draco relaxed his stance. “I suppose you’re right.” 

Theo’s face brightened. 

“About?” 

“Potter. If he finds out, he finds out. I care more about you.” He smiled softly. 

Theo brushed a hand affectionately across Draco’s jaw, thumbing the skin. 

“People can see,” Draco murmured. 

“I don’t care.” A step closer, and then, “Can I kiss you?” 

Breath caught in his throat, Draco nodded. Theo gently placed his lips on top of his own, and waited several seconds before deepening the kiss. Draco responded eagerly, and placed a hand on Theo’s waist to sturdy himself. Feeling bold, Draco squeezed his hip and pushed his tongue at Theo’s lips, asking for entry. Theo granted his request, and moaned into his mouth as Draco swirled his tongue all around the inner expanse of Theo’s mouth. Theo pulled back, letting go of Draco and immediately began kissing at the sensitive skin of his neck and _Merlin_ , they were in _public_ -

“Ah, Theo, n-not here.” 

“Thought you didn’t care?” he murmured against his neck. He left one last kiss on Draco’s juglar, and Draco shivered. Theo looked up at him, eyes pleading. “I want you.” 

Draco’s grip on his waist tightened. 

“We both have a free period, if you happen to recall,” said Theo. 

“I want you, too.” 

Draco looked at the sea of bodies surrounding them on either side, how even though they were in public right now it felt like they were in their own little world. 

“And I believe there’s a broom closet on the fifth floor that is calling our names.” 

“I have a better idea,” said Draco, not believing he was about to do this. 

“By all means, Draco, lead the way.” 

Draco took him up several flights of stairs, until they reached their destination. He knew the rules. He began thinking of what he needed from the Room of Hidden Things, over and over again. 

“Where are we?” Theo asked, hooking an arm around Draco’s waist and pulling him close. 

“It’s the Room of Hidden Things,” Draco explained, breath catching from the discreet act of affection. “If it works the way it’s supposed to, we’ll open that door and see a bed.” 

“I’ll let you do the honours.” 

Draco smiled at him, pecked his lips, then pulled open the door. 

“Whoa.” Theo was entranced, looking around the room that had a giant four-poster bed just waiting for them. 

“How did you-” 

“It’s a secret. Not many people know about this room. I came up here a lot in sixth year trying to repair the Vanishing Cabinet, but I’d rather not talk about that. Puts a damper on the mood, don’t you think?” 

Theo frowned, and placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders. “Don’t ever think you’re dampening the mood with me when you’re getting something off your chest. Okay?” 

Draco’s heart swelled. He couldn’t resist the small smile that formed on his lips. 

“Okay.” 

He led Theo by the hand over to the bed, leaning back. They took one look at each other before it was all hands and tongue and teeth, Theo lifting Draco and all but throwing him down on the bed. Draco gasped. Theo’s eyes darkened with lust. 

Draco’s lips never left his as he fumbled with his belt. Theo growled, shoving his pants down and grinding against Draco in his briefs. The friction was maddening, and at the first impact both boys moaned loudly. 

It vaguely occurred to Draco that they hadn’t put a _label_ on their relationship yet, but in the present moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. His mind was fogged over, and his insides screamed with want for the boy on top of him. 

“Theo,” he breathed, moan turning into a choked gasp when Theo palmed him through his trousers. 

“Haven’t even gotten my hands on you yet,” Theo marveled. “What are you going to do then, hmm?” 

_“Ngh.”_ Draco shakily worked with his belt, and Theo helped him slide his pants off. Before taking it any further, he leaned over Draco and captured his lips in another heated kiss. His hands grazed up and down Draco’s sides, tickling him. Draco keened, arching his back, befuddled that Theo could reduce him to a melting, babbling mess so quickly. His touch was intoxicating as it was addicting. 

Theo left a trail of kisses down his neck, and undid his first two buttons. As he kissed and licked the sensitive skin, he pinched Draco’s nipples, hard. Draco yelped. 

“Please, Theo.” 

“Please _what?”_

“Stop teasing.” 

“Teasing?” Theo’s tongue trailed over the shell of Draco’s ear, breath hot against him. “Who’s teasing?” 

Theo palmed Draco’s semi through his briefs, reaching back and fondling with his balls. Draco arched into the touch, mewling. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed for making such noises. 

“Off,” Theo commanded. Draco wordlessly obeyed, and his hard cock sprang free. Theo instantly wrapped his hand around him and began pumping, toying with him agonizingly slowly. 

“Oh, fuck.” 

Precome leaked from his tip, and Draco pulled Theo down into another kiss. Theo peppered tiny kisses on his lips before sitting back and removing his boxers. Draco eyed his erection hungrily. 

“H-How do you want to do this?” he asked Theo. 

“How do _you_ want to do this? You’re in charge here, Draco.” 

His cock swelled from hearing those words. 

“I want to be on top.” 

Theo’s eyes widened. “You want to fuck me?” 

“No, I mean _yes,_ but not today. I think I want to ride you. Yes, that’s what I want.” 

Theo exhaled shakily. “Fuck, Draco, that’s so hot. I could come from just the sight of you bouncing on my cock alone. Let’s switch sides, then.” 

Draco allowed Theo to crawl up the bed and sit back. Theo beckoned him with his hands. Draco crawled into his lap and straddled his hips. Theo’s hands wandered up Draco’s back, holding him close as Draco leaned in to kiss him. 

Theo reciprocated the kiss enthusiastically, tongue quickly claiming dominance over Draco’s. Draco sighed into the kiss, feeling himself slowly relax. 

Theo pulled away from him. “Wait, Draco, we don’t have any lube.” 

“That’s not a problem. The room will make some appear for us.” 

Draco silently willed for a bottle of lube, repeatedly, and soon enough there one sat on the nightstand. 

Theo smirked openly. “Wicked.” 

He snatched the bottle while Draco took a few steadying breaths, knowing what was coming next. Draco stroked himself while Theo coated his fingers in the thick, translucent substance. 

“C’mere.” Theo pulled him close, and Draco braced himself on Theo’s shoulders, on his knees. Theo used one hand to spread apart his arse cheeks, and then there was one lubed finger teasing his entrance. 

Draco’s breathing picked up. 

“Deep breaths,” Theo soothed, pressing a kiss against his forehead. Draco shuddered. Theo slowly pushed his finger inside. Draco hissed. 

“Okay?” 

Draco nodded, drawing in a deep breath. He remembered to keep himself as relaxed as possible; it wouldn’t hurt as much that way. 

Theo fucked him nice and easy with his finger, just barely brushing his prostate. Draco keened. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” 

“That feel good?” Theo pressed his finger deeper inside, hitting that bundle of nerves straight on. Draco breathed in sharply, as dizzying pleasure washed over him. He relaxed in Theo’s hold, and as a result Theo’s finger sank deeper. 

“See? Nothing to feel ashamed of; our bodies are meant for this,” Theo told him gently, removing his finger and replacing it with two. Draco groaned at the uncomfortable stretch. 

“Hey, relax, you’re doing so well, Draco.” Draco sighed, squeezing onto Theo’s shoulders for dear life as Theo began pumping his fingers in and out. Every so often they’d brush across his prostate, sending thick tendrils of pleasure flaring throughout his body. 

“F-Fuck” was all Draco was capable of saying. 

Theo pulled him flush against his chest so Draco was putting his full body weight on him. His head was tucked into his shoulder. He shuddered as the new position allowed him to relax more. Theo’s fingers met less resistance, and he continued to relentlessly push and twist his fingers inside him. 

“That’s it, Draco, you like that?” 

Draco was no longer able to keep his breathing steady. He buried his face in Theo’s shoulder, nails scratching into Theo’s shirt. He was surprised he hadn’t torn the material. 

Without warning, the fingers swiftly slipped free from his arse and were replaced with three. Draco moaned openly, gasping as he felt himself stretch wider and wider. It was electrifying. 

“S-Shit.” 

“You okay?” Theo planted a kiss on his temple, slowing the movements of his fingers. 

“Yes.” 

Theo resumed his pace, fucking into Draco with fervor. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and held on for dear life as Theo’s fingers slowly worked him open, milking his prostate. His legs shook, and his cock was dripping with precome. 

“T-Theo, I-I’m gonna come-” 

Theo growled, removing his fingers. “Not yet you aren’t. Now, for something we forgot last time. Protection.” 

Draco nodded, feeling sluggish from arousal and began willing the room to provide him a condom. Once it appeared on the nightstand, he climbed off Theo’s lap to retrieve it. He handed it to Theo; he presumed he knew what to do with it. 

Theo tore open the wrapper, tossed it to the side and began lathering the latex onto his cock. Then he slicked his cock in plenty of lube. 

“Are you ready?” he asked Draco. 

Instead of answering, Draco climbed back on top of him and wordlessly guided him back to a lying down position. Theo gasped. Draco placed a single finger against Theo’s lips, shushing him. Then he slowly began to sink down on Theo’s thick cock. 

Pain. Pain and burning. Draco immediately clenched up, feeling as though all that prep had done virtually nothing to help him. 

“Draco-” 

“Shh.” 

Draco drew in another deep breath, willing himself to relax. He’d made it this far; he wasn’t about to back out now. Taking his time, with shaking legs he felt Theo’s cock slowly fill him up. He groaned, gripping Theo’s hips, _hard_. 

“Fuck, Draco, you’re so _tight . . .”_

Perspiration beaded on his forehead as his thighs quivered with the effort to remain upright. He gave himself a moment to get used to the feeling of Theo’s cock filling him, then he began to move. He was slow at first, agonizingly slow, but as he felt himself loosen up he began to move faster. He moved his hips and watched the expression of apprehension on Theo’s face slowly morph into ecstasy. 

“Draco, don’t stop.” 

Draco listened. He hurried his thrusts, slamming himself down on Theo’s cock repeatedly. Theo lifted his hips in time with Draco’s thrusts, causing his cock to sink that much deeper into him. Once his cock hit Draco’s prostate, Draco was done for. His hole clenched around Theo’s cock as he felt the brink of his orgasm begin to hit him. More accurately, slam into him. 

Pleasure spread rapidly through his gut, churning through his insides and trailing teasingly down his legs, all the way to his curled toes. 

“I’m close,” he managed, heaving for breath as sweat dripped off his face. 

“Come for me,” Theo breathed. His chest was rising and falling rather rapidly, and his eyes kept fluttering shut. Draco briefly wondered if this was affecting him more. 

Draco didn’t need to be told twice. He fisted himself, guiding himself to completion as rope after rope of white hot come shot from his cock. 

Theo finished immediately after him, emptying his come into Draco with a howl. Draco leaned forward, heaving for breath as Theo’s arms wrapped around him and held him close. Their breaths intermixed and they looked at each other, warmth present in Theo’s eyes. 

Once Draco had climbed off Theo’s lap, Theo removed the condom from his softening cock and placed it on the nightstand. 

“That was . . .” 

“Amazing,” Draco said with a smile. 

Theo nodded. 

“Come here.” Draco lay down next to Theo, resting his head on his shoulder. Theo wrapped an arm around him, drawing patterns on his forearm. Draco relaxed into the touch. 

“Draco?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” 

Draco’s heart stopped. He froze in Theo’s grip. 

He felt Theo tense, but the other boy said nothing, patiently awaiting Draco’s response. 

Draco found his bearings and propped himself up on his elbow, gazing into Theo’s eyes for any hint of insincerity. He found none. 

“You’re asking me now, after we’ve just had sex.” 

The warm gleam in Theo’s eyes dissipated. “I thought it was . . . I mean I didn’t think it was _just_ sex, Draco-” 

“But how am I supposed to know this is really you asking the question and not just your post-orgasm hormones?” 

Theo frowned. “You really think that low of me?” 

“No, I’m just-” 

“You really think I’d only ask you something like that because of the _sex?”_

“I didn’t know, that’s why I was-” 

“This means something more to me, Draco. I thought it meant something more to you, too.” 

“It does.” 

“Then does it matter when or how I pop the question?” 

It _did_ matter. Draco frowned, worrying his bottom lip, unsure how to answer the question but knowing that he needed to. 

“I think it matters. And I don’t think immediately after fucking is the time to ask.” 

Theo furrowed his eyebrows. “Is that a no, then?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Merlin, Draco.” Theo sighed. “I dunno what you want. Which is it?” 

Draco sat up, removing himself from the other boy’s hold. “Well, I certainly don’t want to start a relationship if you’re going to be cross with me.” 

“You’re not making it very clear what you want. You say you want me, but do you, really?” 

Draco’s eyes widened. Theo’s commentary hurt him, because he thought he had made it clear to the other man he wanted him. He wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions on the best of days, and doing so to this capacity meant taking a step outside his comfort zone. It wasn’t easy, though he mused for normal people it probably was supposed to be. 

“I do want you, Theo. I just didn’t expect you to ask me right now.” 

“Well, when were you _expecting_ me to ask you then, Draco?” He sounded thoroughly cross now, and Draco wanted to disappear. 

“I dunno, not right after we had sex?” 

“Does it matter if we like each other?” 

_Yes,_ it mattered. But instead of responding Draco curled in on himself. 

“Does it?” Theo pressed. 

Draco moved off the bed, and reached down for his boxers and trousers. 

“Draco, where are you going?” 

“Out of here.” 

“Draco, please. Wait.” 

“No. You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t think I want you, so what use do I have sticking around?” 

“Draco-” 

“I-I should be going, anyway. Lots of homework to do.” 

Theo’s expression softened. “Please stay. Let’s talk about this.” 

Draco mutely shook his head. “N-Nothing to talk about,” he choked out, hurriedly dressing. Theo looked dejected. 

“Draco.” 

Draco shook his head no again. “Please, Theo, don’t.” He turned around and fled the room. 

________________

Harry tossed and turned in his bed like the sea, as the claws of his nightmare sank deep into him. 

_Heat. White hot fire lapping at his back, sweat pouring down his face. Air hotter than an oven. Flying on his broomstick with no end in sight, no door, just fire and fire and fire-_

_And then a scream for help. A blood curdling scream that he’d remember for the rest of his days as he went back to Draco Malfoy for help. He pulled Draco onto his broom, but the fire was stronger. Faster. They couldn’t make it. The door slammed shut in their faces, as the flames wildly danced with glee and ate them alive, charring his skin from the inside out-_

Harry shot up in his bed, breathing heavily. His forehead was coated with a thin sheath of sweat. This was the second time this week he’d had a nightmare involving Draco Malfoy, and he did not know what to make of it. He lay back down, but after an indefinite period of staring at the ceiling, he knew sleep would not come any time soon. He decided to rise out of bed and go to the common room. Maybe the fire would calm him down. 

To his utter dismay, he wasn’t alone. Somebody else occupied the seat directly in front of the fire. 

He saw a mop of white-blonde hair, and instantly knew the culprit. Draco Malfoy. 

He’d blame it on the late hours of the night, but curiosity propelled him to move forward towards the fire. Even though he’d told himself he would never help Malfoy again, every instinct screamed at him to move towards the fire. He cautiously approached the other boy, not wanting to startle him. 

“Who’s there?” Malfoy asked, sounding annoyed. 

Harry stepped into his vision, standing over the boy. 

“Potter?” 

Harry nodded before sitting down in a chair across from Malfoy. 

Harry studied Malfoy. He leaned back in his chair, and he was practically swimming in his pajamas. Harry wondered if his friends had made up with him yet. 

“What’s got you up this late?” Malfoy asked him. 

“Nightmare,” Harry answered honestly. Another tribute to the late hours of the night. His inhibitions were naturally lowered; he feared if he stayed too long, he’d end up telling Malfoy everything. Malfoy seemed like the kind of person who, beneath his cold exterior, was an admirably good listener. 

“Me, too,” was Malfoy’s quiet response. Harry frowned. 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” 

No snark. That’s when Harry knew something was wrong. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Can I ask what it was about?” 

Malfoy shuffled his feet. 

“You don’t have to say yes.” 

“It was about him.” 

Harry didn’t need to ask. 

“I see.” 

“What about yours?” asked Malfoy, clearly not wanting to elaborate. 

Harry wanted to omit the detail of Malfoy being in the dream, but he knew that Malfoy was definitely clever enough to figure it out on his own. 

“Fiendfyre.” 

“Fun stuff,” Malfoy said sarcastically. “Look at us; two traumatized teenagers bonding over insomnia.” 

“I really wish I could sleep right now,” Harry said. “But I know what’ll happen when I do.” 

Malfoy frowned. “Have you ever considered seeing a Mind Healer? My mother keeps wanting me to, and I keep denying her.” 

Harry had. But the truth was, everything was still so fresh that he wasn’t ready. Seeing a mind healer meant confronting what he’d done, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for that. 

“Why do you keep denying her?” he asked instead. 

Malfoy wrung his hands together. “Because I’m not ready,” he said simply. 

Harry chuckled mirthlessly. “Well, that’s a sight for sore eyes. Someone who’ll readily recommend a Healer to someone else without wanting to see one for himself?” 

Malfoy glowered. “It isn’t that easy, Potter.” 

“I know.” 

They sat in a moment of silence that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. And then, 

“How do we keep ending up like this? Talking to each other, like real people?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged. “I dunno.” 

Malfoy frowned. “About earlier today, I-I’m . . . I’m sorry.” 

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

“What are you sorry for?” He already knew, but he wanted to hear Malfoy say it. 

Malfoy looked as though he were about to retort, but held his tongue. Then he said, “You were trying to help me, and I was quite rude to you. I’m sorry.” 

Harry’s expression softened. Vulnerability was written on Malfoy’s face in the low light of the fire, and all traces of anger towards him for earlier today slowly disappeared. 

“It’s alright,” Harry told him kindly. “I forgive you. You weren’t in a good way.” 

“That’s not an excuse.” 

“I know it’s not. I’m just saying I understand where you were coming from. You were probably embarrassed I had to see you like that, so you pushed me away.” _Like you push everyone away_. 

Malfoy frowned. “I only want your forgiveness if it’s sincere, Potter.” 

“And I only want your apology if it’s sincere.” 

Malfoy nodded. “It is.” 

“Alright. Then, so is my forgiveness.” 

Malfoy’s lips curled up in a small smile, which did things to Harry’s heart. Malfoy truly was adorable when he smiled. Harry wished he would do it more often. “Thank you.” 

“For what? Forgiving you?” 

“For today.” 

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “It was nothing.” That was the furthest thing from the truth. 

Malfoy’s expression deflated a little, which was probably for the best. Harry didn’t want to get too chummy, or give him any ideas that he definitely didn’t hate him. Because for all he knew, Malfoy still hated him. 

_But would he have apologized if he still hated you?_

Harry thought back to what Malfoy had said earlier today. 

_“I should tell you more things. About me. Makes me feel better.”_

That was when Harry realized, there was not a single bone in his body that hated Draco Malfoy. He wasn’t sure he ever had. 

“Right. Nothing. Just a common act of decency.” Draco’s mask had slipped back into place, and he toyed with his fingers. Harry felt guilty, but he nodded all the same. Talking to Malfoy was like playing with fire, and he did not want to get burned. 

“Yes.” 

Malfoy’s gaze averted to the floor. He almost looked sad, though maybe Harry was imagining it. 

“Hey.” The words were out before he could stop them. Malfoy looked up at him, expression hopeful. 

“If you ever need to, erm, talk. About anything, you can come to me.” For all Harry knew, Malfoy was friendless. That was his excuse. He didn’t want a friendless person suffering alone. 

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Really?” His voice was soft. 

Harry nodded. “Mhm.” 

The corners of Malfoy’s lips stretched up into a small smile. Harry’s heart swelled with pride knowing that he’d put it there. 

“Thank you.” 

Harry shrugged, feigning casual. “You’re welcome.” 

“I made up with my friends. Sorta,” said Malfoy, surprising Harry. 

Harry lifted a brow. “Did you now?” 

“They apologized to me.” 

Harry wondered if they apologized because they felt like they had to, or because they actually meant it. He didn’t even know the issue, or who was at fault. All he knew was that their absence from Malfoy’s life hurt him, deeply, and Malfoy didn’t seem like the kind of person who fared well being alone. 

“Did you forgive them?” 

Malfoy took a second to answer. “I’m working on it.” 

“Oh, okay. That’s good. Sometimes it takes time.” 

“It’s weird not telling Pansy everything,” said Malfoy. “Sweet Merlin, I’m tired. That’s the only reason I’m telling you any of this, Potter.” 

Harry chuckled. “Well, maybe you should get some rest. It’s late.” 

“If only it were that easy,” Malfoy mused. 

Harry nodded. “If only. Well, I’m going to try to get back to sleep now. You 

coming?” 

Malfoy shook his head. “Don’t wait up.” 

Harry sighed, but Malfoy’s decision to sleep or not sleep was none of his business, 

so without another word he stood up from the chair and yawned. He bid Malfoy goodnight and returned to the dormitories. 

Sleep eventually came, but it was light and fretful and consisted of more dreams of Harry reaching down to save Malfoy’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Food for thought: Each time Harry and Draco have interacted civilly, it's been in Harry's POV. What's the significance of this? Why might I set up their first conversations in this way?


	14. Chapter 14

Draco woke up the next morning with an angry, growling stomach, protesting at having skipped dinner the night before. He wasn’t ready to face Theo after their argument. He didn’t understand. Had he overreacted? Was post-sex a perfectly reasonable time to ask someone to be one’s boyfriend? He hadn’t thought so, but Theo clearly had. What if they wanted different things? Did Theo only want him for sex? He said he hadn’t, but Draco couldn’t be sure, when he’d asked as soon as they’d had sex. 

He rolled over in bed and stretched, yawning loudly. Breakfast was unavoidable today. Even if he wasn’t hungry, Pansy would scold him for slacking on his efforts to get better. He didn’t want that. 

Greg and Blaise got ready unusually quickly. Draco supposed it was probably their completely, blatantly unsubtle attempt at giving Theo and him a moment alone, which he absolutely did not want. 

Sure enough, his theory proved to be correct when Greg and Blaise hurriedly gathered their books and departed the room. Draco trained his eyes on his own reflection as he combed his hair, determined not to spark up a conversation with the other boy. However, he could not help but steal a glance toward Theo, who was buttoning up his dress shirt. 

They made eye contact. Brown bore into grey. Theo frowned. 

“You can’t avoid me forever, y’know.” 

“Watch me.” 

Draco returned to vehemently combing his messy hair. A whole night of thrashing from nightmares hadn’t treated his locks too kindly. He didn’t wince from the pain of the knots; he welcomed it. However, with a particularly hard tug came a particularly biting flash of pain. Growling frustratedly, he tugged at the comb, which had gotten stuck in his hair. 

“Hey, stop that.” Theo all too quickly was behind him, and had placed his hands on top of Draco’s. Draco trembled from the feeling that spread through his hands. Theo grasped onto Draco’s hands and carefully removed them from the comb. Draco, stunned, let him. 

“You’ll make it worse if you do that.” 

Theo gently set Draco’s hands down at his sides. They tingled from the contact. Then he reached back up and placed one hand on the stuck comb. 

“Here, let me.” 

Theo began slowly, carefully attempting to wrench the comb free. Draco winced in pain. Somehow, at someone else’s touch, his head grew ten times more sensitive. He cursed himself for appearing so weak in front of the other. 

“Am I hurting you?” he asked quietly as he continued to wriggle the comb. “Your hair’s in a right state.” 

“No,” Draco answered coldly. 

Theo sighed. He continued working on the comb, and with a particularly hard tug Draco hissed. 

“Almost there.” 

Draco felt Theo place a steadying hand on his shoulder. He hated that the other’s touch had such an effect on him. Theo could feel the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders, sense the electricity in his touch, their closeness, he could feel  _ everything _ . Draco couldn’t stand being a part of such an intimate moment after the way things had played out between them. If he was right, and Theo only wanted him for cheap pleasure, then he had absolutely no business messing with Draco’s hair. 

The way Theo had kissed him, held him, praised him had felt real. But what if it wasn’t? What if he said that to all his partners? Draco realized with a pang in his chest he had no idea who he was to Theo at all. 

“Theo-” 

“It’s coming out,” Theo assured him, misconstruing the name call. “Just a little bit more.” He continued pulling on the comb, murmuring apologies under his breath. 

“How’d you manage to get it like this, Draco?” he asked. 

“I dunno.” 

With one last yank, Theo pulled the comb out of his hair at last. Then, to Draco’s horror, he began  _ combing his hair _ . 

“W-What are you doing?” 

“Fixing your hair. What’s it look like I’m doing?” 

“Why?” 

“Because it needs fixing, silly.” 

Draco said nothing, only stared in shock as Theo slowly smoothed out the knots in his locks. The hand on his shoulder rubbed the muscle and bone softly, applying a slight pressure. Draco exhaled shakily. 

“We’re going to have to talk about this eventually, Draco.” 

“No, we don’t.” 

Theo stilled his motions with the comb. “So, that’s it, then? We shag a couple times and it’s over?” 

Draco swallowed. 

“I never saw you as just a shag,” said Theo. 

Draco’s eyes widened. He tensed up, shrugging off Theo’s hand and spinning around to face him. 

“Oh, yeah? Then tell me, why did you ask me to be your boyfriend right after we shagged? Doesn’t send the best message, if you ask me.” 

Theo frowned. “I was under the impression our shagging was connecting us, bringing us closer together. Clearly, we saw it differently.” 

It was Draco’s turn to frown. “I never said it didn’t make me feel connected to you.” 

“But you aren’t acting like it. Draco, how am I supposed to know what you want if you don’t  _ tell  _ me?” 

That one hurt his feelings. He thought he was being perfectly receptive to Theo’s physical touches and kind words, but maybe he wasn’t. 

“I did tell you. I looked you in the eye and told you I wanted you. How much clearer can it get?” 

“Saying it and acting it are two different things.” 

“I held your hand, I let you shag me. Multiple times. Theo, I gave you my  _ virginity _ . I wouldn’t do that with just anybody. And you’re going to stand there and say it wasn’t special to me?” 

Theo’s lips parted slightly. Draco wasn’t done. 

“No, I don’t think immediately asking me to be your boyfriend after sex was the best move, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. You never let me finish. You jumped to the conclusion I didn’t want you period, when that wasn’t it at all.” 

“Shagging doesn’t even feel like the right word for what we did, Draco, Merlin . . . Feeling you come apart in my arms like that was . . . It was . . . It was the best feeling I’ve ever had.” 

Draco’s eyebrows raised. His expression softened. He noticed Theo’s grip tighten on the comb. 

“You mean that?” 

“Every word,” Theo answered without hesitation. 

Draco cautiously took a step closer to the other boy. He saw Theo tremble. 

“You know I’m not good at expressing my feelings,” Draco began carefully. Theo nodded. “But you . . . You bring something out in me, a new side of myself, that I’ve never seen before. I want to explore it more.” 

Theo’s lips curled upwards in a small smile. “I like seeing that side of you. I want to see more of it. If you’ll let me.” 

Bringing up a shaking hand, Draco cupped Theo’s jaw. Theo bit his lip, eyes wide. When Draco softly thumbed at the skin, Theo shuddered and closed his eyes. 

“I will.” 

Those two words, spoken softly with such conviction, were all the consent he needed. Theo surged forward and captured Draco’s lips in a simmering kiss. Draco gasped into his mouth, hands gripping Theo’s face tightly. Theo’s arms circled his waist and drew him close until their chests were flush. 

Dizzy, Draco pulled back after a few moments of heated snogging and panted for air. Theo looked at him with such adoration in his eyes that Draco wanted to melt right there on the floor. Theo placed the comb on the dresser. 

“Draco,” he said breathlessly, almost in awe. His hands reached up and cupped Draco’s cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you properly.” 

“It’s okay,” said Draco, and he meant it. It was hard to be angry at Theo for anything after having been kissed like that. 

“You mean more to me than the way I came across.” 

His heart clenched. “I know.” 

Theo didn’t look convinced. “And I don’t want you to think so little of yourself. You’re so much more than just a shag. Always have been.” 

Theo kept his hands on Draco’s face. 

Draco was sure he was shaking, and was even surer Theo noticed. 

“I know,” he said thickly. 

“Alright. I’ll keep reminding you, then.” 

Theo planted a kiss on his forehead. His lips lingered there for several seconds. Draco shuddered, stifling a gasp. This moment felt so intimate, that he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. 

“Be my boyfriend,” Theo murmured against the skin. 

Draco’s eyes widened. Tendrils of uncertainty crept up his spine. Putting a label on their relationship would legitimize everything they’d done. Was he ready for that?

Theo’s lips left his forehead and he looked Draco deep in the eye. Draco detected a glint of fear. 

“I want you to be mine, so bad,” Theo said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

Against all his fears and apprehensions, Draco found himself nodding. He felt as though he had just jumped off a very high cliff, and now he was free falling. 

Theo’s eyes sparkled with excitement. His smile widened. 

“Yes?” he breathed. 

Draco nodded more, unable to form words. 

“Yes?” 

“Yes.” 

A choked sort of laugh escaped Theo’s lips, and he pulled Draco into a tight hug, squeezing the air straight out of his lungs. 

“You said yes. You said yes.” 

Theo began peppering his forehead with a thousand tiny kisses. Draco felt a swell of affection bubble up inside his chest. 

“Boyfriend. Boy. Friend,” Theo sounded out. “Boyfriend. You’re my boyfriend. The word feels kind of weird to say once you’ve said it over and over, don’t you think?” He giggled. 

Draco chuckled fondly, cupping Theo’s jaw, looking at the man with adoration. 

“I can’t believe this is real,” Draco said quietly. 

“Me neither.” 

Theo leaned in and planted an utterly gentle kiss on his lips. So gentle that Draco shook in his grip and swallowed thickly, hand sliding off Theo’s jaw and unsteadily gripping his shoulder. 

Theo broke away, and ran a tentative hand through Draco’s freshly combed hair. “Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.” 

Draco looked into his eyes, so full of adoration. 

“I promise I’ll treat you exactly the way you deserve. You deserve the world and nothing less, Draco.” 

Draco couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his mouth. He felt himself smile. 

“I don’t want to see you skipping meals again, though. When you didn’t show to dinner last night I was so worried.” 

Draco felt his chest clench uncomfortably. He really didn’t want _ this _ to be their first conversation of their officiated relationship. 

“Please, can we not do this right now?” he asked softly. 

Theo’s eyebrows pinched inward like they did when he was worried. “I don’t ever want you to think that just because we aren’t getting along means you can’t  _ eat, _ I mean  _ Merlin, _ Draco . . .” 

“It wasn’t like that.” But the truth was, Draco didn’t know what it was like. 

“You must be starving.” 

“Actually, I am.” 

Theo extended his hand to him. “Care to accompany me to breakfast, then? Our first meal as a couple.” 

Draco smiled in spite of himself. Theo was attempting to make amends for bringing up the touchy subject, and Draco appreciated the effort. 

“Alright.” 

They gathered their things and set off for the Great Hall together. Hand in hand, they walked through the common room. It was mostly vacant. Everyone had already gone off to breakfast. 

When they reached the Slytherin table, they took a seat next to Greg, who sat across from Pansy and Blaise. 

Pansy’s eyes widened at the sight of them. She smirked, nudging Blaise. 

“Looks like the lovebirds made up.” 

“None of that,” Draco scolded her, though he didn’t mind as much as he was letting on. He just didn’t want Pansy to know that. 

Pansy frowned. “You’re no fun.” 

Draco fixed her with a pointed look. “And you know why.” 

Pansy shrunk into herself. 

Greg clapped Theo on the shoulder. “Knew you could fix things, mate.” 

Draco frowned. Had Theo told them? How much did they know? Greg he didn’t mind, but he was still treading on unsteady ice with Pansy and Blaise. 

Theo must’ve sensed Draco’s apprehension, for he squeezed his hand a little bit tighter and whispered in his ear. 

“They forced it out of me. I’m sorry, love.” 

Draco felt heat immediately creep into his cheeks.  _ Love _ . 

He squeezed Theo’s hand back, a silent reassurance that it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault. 

“It’s okay,” Draco whispered back. 

“Hey, no secrets,” said Blaise. “What are you two whispering about?” 

“Nothing of your concern,” Draco said freshly. Blaise frowned. 

“No need to be a prick about it.” 

“I think I’ve reserved the right to be a prick as much as I want for a while where you and Pansy are concerned.” 

Blaise sighed. “I understand you’re upset, Draco, but that doesn’t mean-” 

“Upset?” Draco exclaimed. “Upset? I’m upset.” 

“You seem it, mate.” 

“You haven’t earned that title back with me yet.” 

Blaise frowned at him. “How long should I plan on waiting around, then?” 

Draco really didn’t appreciate Blaise’s sass. He tensed up, and Theo squeezed his hand, thumb rubbing soothing circles. 

“As long as it takes,” he replied smoothly. Greg snorted. 

“You don’t have to be such an arse, you know,” said Pansy. “We’re trying, here. You could at least pretend to do the same.” 

The soothing circles continued. Draco took a steadying breath. 

“You really hurt me, Pansy.” 

Pansy averted her gaze to the floor. “I know.” 

“We were supposed to be best friends. And you just . . . you just . . .” Draco gestured with his free hand, unable to verbally express his anguish. To his utter dismay, hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He rapidly blinked them away. 

“I thought you were using him,” Pansy said. 

“That wasn’t for you to assume.” 

“I know, and I’ve told you how sorry I am, and I’ll keep saying it-” 

“That isn’t enough, Pans.” The nickname slipped out. He couldn’t help it. “You’ve got to show me that you care.” 

“What do you want me to do, Draco?” Pansy asked brokenly. “There’s been a you-shaped hole in my life since the moment I uninvited you from lunch that day. I want you back.” 

“Trust takes time, Pansy,” Theo said gently. “Draco will trust you again. It’s just going to take some time.” 

Pansy wiped her eyes furiously. Had she been  _ crying?  _

“I don’t want to wait. I want my best friend back. I want to hear everything about you guys. Are you officially together yet? Would be about time.” 

“As a matter of fact, we are,” said Draco. “That I feel comfortable sharing.” 

Blaise’s expression softened into kindness. “Congratulations, you two. That’s fantastic.” 

Theo never stopped rubbing the circles. Draco relaxed from the intimate contact. 

“Draco, I’m so happy for you,” Pansy gushed, blinking quickly. Her eyes were damp. Draco politely didn’t comment on it. “You too, Nott.” 

“I asked him only this morning,” said Theo, smiling dopily. “Still fresh to us, too.” 

“I want to reach over the table and give you a bone-crushing hug, but I know we aren’t there yet,” said Pansy. 

“Not quite,” agreed Draco. 

And with that the group began to eat. Food came easier to Draco this meal. He supposed his newly official relationship with Theo had everything to do with it. He hated how receptive his appetite was to his state of mind, how if he were in a sour mood he wouldn’t want to eat a thing, but there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it. Unless he wanted to seek professional help, which definitely wasn’t happening. 

So he’d take the good mood for now and hoped it would last. 

________________

“I’ve been doing some thinking, Harry.” 

Ginny toyed with a strand of her fire-red hair. The flames flickered with life in the hearth. Harry studied her closely. He missed their intimacy, their closeness. They’d kept to their word and stayed friends, but there was still something missing between them. And unless he worked out whatever was going on with himself, there always would be. 

“Hmm?” 

“And I’ve decided that we should break up. For good.” 

Harry froze. 

“What?” 

“Harry-” 

“It’s been a  _ month, _ and you haven’t gotten any closer to figuring out why you can’t be intimate with me, have you?” 

Harry couldn’t lie. He could never lie to Ginny. “No.” 

“Believe me, this hurts me to say as much as I’m sure it hurts you to hear it, but I think it’s for the best.” 

“Ginny . . . I’m still in love with you.” 

“Harry.” She sighed, deflating in her chair. “I’m not sure I believe you. Even when we made love, something wasn’t quite right. With us.” 

“What do you mean?” Now Harry was nervous. Had he made Ginny uncomfortable in some way during their lovemaking? 

Ginny worried her bottom lip before answering. “Don’t go running away with that thought, you never did anything  _ wrong, _ it’s just . . . the passion wasn’t there.” 

Oh. 

Harry could have handled it if Ginny had told him he was bad in bed; there was always room for improvement, which only came through open and honest communication. This, however, jostled him far more turbulently. 

It wasn’t something he was even  _ aware _ of. 

“I thought I was passionate.” 

“Oh, Harry.” The ginger sighed again. “You were tender, and gentle, and sweet. You treated me like I was made of glass. You never . . . er, got rough with me or anything.” 

“I didn’t know that was something you wanted. All you had to do was ask, Gin.” 

Ginny frowned at him. “That’s just it, Harry. I shouldn’t have to.” 

“Ginny, how am I supposed to know what you want if you don’t communicate it to me?” 

“Because it should be instinctual, Harry. You can’t honestly sit there and tell me truthfully that something wasn’t missing from our sex life.” 

She was right. Something  _ had _ been missing. Harry had just never been able to lay a finger on it because he was so enamored with Ginny. To him, tender and gentle was all he’d needed to do because he saw Ginny as this delicate, perfect creature who he would never lay a harming finger on in a thousand years. He never stopped to consider that maybe that was an issue. 

Harry sighed. “I understand where you’re coming from, but I stand by my statement that if you want something, you should communicate it. I’m not a mind reader.” 

“Harry, how thick are you? I just finished telling you that this isn't something I should ever have to ask for. Passionate, rough, fast love making just _ happens _ . It isn’t forced or negotiated.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t cater to all your needs,” he spat, suddenly feeling very cross. Here he was being dumped because he couldn’t cater to his girlfriend’s needs in bed. How humiliating. Instead of giving him a chance to improve, she was severing the connection completely. 

Ginny’s expression softened. “Harry, it isn’t like that-” 

“Oh, really? Because that sounds like exactly what it’s like.” 

He stood up, unwilling to take anymore. 

“Harry, wait.” She stood up. 

“What?” 

“I . . . I still want us to be friends. I care for you very deeply, and whatever’s going on, whether it’s that you find you’re actually into blokes or I just wasn’t the one for you, I hope you can find the strength to figure it out. It’s important because it’s a part of who you are, whether you like it or not.” 

“Into blokes?” Harry exclaimed, feeling a fierce blush coat his cheeks. “Where did  _ that _ come from?” 

“Honestly, Harry, I’ve literally thrown myself at you before and you’ve flat out denied me. For no conceivable reason.” 

“I’m sorry I’m not a sex  _ machine _ , Ginny.” 

“As usual, you have completely missed my point.” Ginny swung her messenger bag over her shoulders. “If you’d like to have a rational conversation once you’ve calmed down, I’d be happy to cater. Otherwise, I think some space is in order.” 

She briskly walked away, leaving a most stunned Harry to stew in his thoughts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading, guys :) feedback means the absolute world to me


	15. Chapter 15

Draco and Theo’s relationship started off as well as any teenage relationship could start: Lots of hormones, feelings and even more sex. Draco took him up to the Room of Hidden Things several times a week, afraid he was abusing its powers. Theo had no problem with this; if anything, they could go as often as every day and he’d be alright with it. He verbalized this to Draco, and Draco would simply blush or brush him off. Even in a relationship, Draco was shy about certain things and it took a fair amount of coaxing on Theo’s end to get him to lower his guard. 

The first time Theo let Draco fuck him, Draco had enjoyed the surge of power more than he thought he would. 

“We should do this more often,” he’d said as he’d worked Theo open, to which Theo only moaned and panted in response. When Draco finally entered him, he’d lasted a mere two minutes. 

Utterly humiliated, he’d faced away from Theo on the bed and refused to look at him. Theo had rubbed his back in soothing motions, telling him it was alright and how well he’d done for his first time topping, when he knew boys that had performed much worse. Draco hadn’t listened to him until Theo began kissing the back of his neck and asking in a sultry voice, “Wanna go again? Bet it won’t take you long to get hard for me.” 

So he’d coaxed Draco to lie back while he put his mouth on him, a complete and utter tease. Draco could’ve come from the sight alone, and it was only due to his first orgasm that he hadn’t. Theo had licked around his head with practiced ease, and when he swallowed him down Draco had bucked his hips and moaned openly. 

“None of that,” Theo had murmured, pressing a domineering hand into Draco’s abdomen. “Stay still for me.” 

Gasping, Draco had slowly felt himself swell up once again, and next thing he knew Theo was pulling off of him with a wet pop and sinking onto him. 

He’d wrapped his arms around him,  _ tight _ , pulling him close and into a searing kiss, gasping into his mouth. 

“Fuck, is it always like this?” he’d asked, wrecked. 

Theo could only nod as he’d begun to move. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he’d murmured breathlessly. 

“Mhm,” Draco had whined. 

Theo had whispered more words of encouragement under his breath, how well he was doing and how  _ pretty _ he looked like this, and it had given Draco the confidence he’d needed to fuck into his boyfriend with more fervor and actually deliver something back. It seemed to be working, for Theo had tossed his head back and moaned shamelessly. Draco had gripped his hips so hard he’d surely leave bruises. The idea of marking Theo, making him his, had caused his gut to swirl with arousal. 

This time Draco had taken a longer amount of time to come, and by the time he was finished Theo’s forehead was shining with sweat and both boys were heaving for air as Theo lifted himself off Draco’s cock and flopped down beside him. 

“Bloody hell,” Draco breathed, rolling on his side to face the other boy. 

Theo chuckled. “Something else, isn’t it?” 

“That was- I’m-” 

“There’s no words for it, really.” 

“How do you last? I was trying so hard to hold out, even the second time.” 

Theo shrugged, smirking somewhat smugly. “Practice.” 

Draco drew his nails up Theo’s bicep. “You’re rather versed, aren’t you.” 

“Are you shaming me?” 

“Not shaming. Only noticing. There’s no complaints on my end. You’re rather good at this.” 

“Is that so?” Theo placed a hand on Draco’s thigh and slowly crept up. Draco gasped quietly, spent cock twitching. 

“I bet I can think of a few other ways to make you feel good.” The hand crept higher. 

Draco shifted closer, stifling a moan. He’d just come,  _ twice _ . 

“Don’t hide your reactions from me, Draco. I can always tell.” Higher the hand crept, until it gripped his hardening cock. 

_ “Mmm.”  _

“Yeah, you like that?” 

“I dunno if I can go again, Theo.” 

“Your words tell me one thing, but your body speaks differently.” 

Theo stroked him in slow, deliberate motions. Pleasure curled up his legs, pooling in his gut. 

“Fuck me . . . What do you want to do?” 

“Exactly that. Fuck you.” 

“B-But we just-” 

“I know. But I really want to put my cock in you, and we’ve all the time in the world. Nobody’s gonna bother us up here.” 

In spite of the two orgasms he’d just had, Draco felt his cock swell at the idea of Theo fucking him. 

Theo continued to apply light pressure to his cock, fondling with his balls and even tapping lightly at his perineum. Draco arched off the bed, grasping onto Theo’s shoulder. 

“There’s a little thing called consent, Draco, and it’s pretty important,” Theo said as he continued fisting Draco’s cock exactly the way he knew he liked it. “I’m leaving it entirely up to you.” 

Draco cursed as Theo thumbed at his sensitive head. 

“I-I . . . you know I’ve never done three before.” 

Theo chuckled. “Neither have I, but I’m willing to try if you are.” 

Draco knew his boyfriend wasn’t pressuring him into anything; the decision was entirely his. He held all the power, and that notion made him feel the tiniest bit more secure. 

Suddenly, Theo’s mouth was on one of his nipples, grazing softly, and all coherent thoughts flew straight out the window. 

_ “Nggh.”  _

_ “Hmm.” _ Theo left a trail of kisses across his sternum and gently bit down on Draco’s other nipple. “Are we done, or do you want to go again?” 

“F-Fuck,  _ Theo.” _ Draco’s back arched off the bed, reaching into the touch, as a thick buzzing coursed through his veins. His nipples were very sensitive, and Theo knew that. 

“I can keep at this all day,” Theo murmured against his chest, one hand still palming his growing erection. 

“We can- We can go again,” Draco stuttered out, gasping loudly when Theo bit down hard on his nipple and simultaneously tugged ruthlessly on his cock. 

Without a moment’s hesitation Theo left a trail of wet kisses starting at Draco’s chest, down past his happy trail, and ending at his swollen cock. Draco felt his legs being pulled apart, and Theo settled between them, making eye contact with Draco as he dipped down to leave lingering kisses on the sensitive expanse of his inner thighs. 

“Just lie back and relax, that’s it, darling.” 

Draco felt his cheeks flush from the unexpected pet name. 

Theo worked him open into a writhing, sweating mess as his fingers curled inside him and relentlessly prodded his prostate. He fucked him tenderly and passionately, and they shared the same air as he threw one of Draco’s legs over his shoulders and claimed his lips in a melting hot kiss. Draco’s climax had rippled through his entire body and electrified him, and he saw white as he came in Theo’s fist, gasping for air and shouting his boyfriend’s name. 

Their sex life had virtually no issues. They communicated their needs and grew surprisingly good at noticing the other’s tells. 

One night, after a few rounds of intense fucking and with Theo’s come still leaking out of his arse, Draco and Theo had arranged to drink with Blaise, Greg and Pansy in the dormitory. 

Most of them were of age, but Hogwarts had strict rules about drinking in the dorms. Blaise had managed to sneak in some firewhiskey. They took turns passing the bottle around. 

“I’m glad to see you’re getting better, mate,” said Greg to the left of him. Theo sat to his right, and their hands were entwined. Theo squeezed tightly in reassurance. 

Draco winced, hoping the others hadn’t noticed. 

“Yeah,” he said flippantly. For Greg’s size, he sure couldn’t handle his liquor very well. They’d only just started drinking, and he already wanted an emotional heart-to-heart? 

“It’s not something to brush off,” Greg continued, and Draco suppressed the urge to groan because they _ really _ weren’t going down this tangent, were they? 

“You’ve been coming to every meal and eating, and you look healthier, too. Props to you, Draco.” 

Draco very nearly rolled his eyes. To his horror, Greg had arrested the attention of both Pansy and Blaise, who looked at him with something akin to pity in their eyes. He didn’t need their pity. He didn’t need  _ them _ . 

“Great, now you’ve-” 

“He’s right, you know.” Blaise took a swig, then passed it to Pansy. “You really are trying. We’re all proud of you.” 

Theo squeezed his hand again, thumb rubbing soft circles against his wrist. 

“I don’t need your approval,” Draco said in response. 

Blaise frowned. “I never said you needed it, I only-” 

“And I think it’s rather rich of you to come to me saying you’re  _ proud _ when you’re the reason I got so bad in the first place.” 

“Everyone makes their own choices, Draco,” said Pansy, frowning. “You chose to do what you did. And now you’re choosing to undo it. That’s what we’re saying we’re proud of.” 

Draco startled, hand slacking in Theo’s grip. The circles continued. He  _ hadn’t _ chosen, the choice had been  _ robbed _ from him. Always had been. He couldn’t help it, never had been able to help it, and yet it was his fault, his fault, his fault- 

“You chose to destroy yourself, now you’re choosing to help yourself. And we think it’s admirable that you’ve made that change,” said Blaise, and how could he get them to  _ understand _ -

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” said Theo. 

Pansy passed the firewhiskey to Greg, who took a considerable sip before passing it to Draco. 

“How is it not that simple?” Blaise asked lightly. Draco’s grip on the firewhiskey tightened as he downed a generous helping. 

“Be careful,” Theo scolded him, and who did he think he was, his mother? “I’ve had to look after you on more than one occasion.” 

“As I have you, so sod off.” Draco flipped him the bird before taking another hefty sip. He felt the sweet liquor burn down the back of his throat, and relished in the cinnamony taste. Feeling slightly dizzy from the after-effects, he passed the bottle to Theo. 

“See, look what you’ve done,” Theo said to the lot of them, minus Greg. “You’ve made him all cross.” 

“I am not cross.” 

“You are, so.” 

“Can we just drop this, please? I’m sorry I brought it up,” said Greg. 

“Best idea I’ve heard all night,” said Draco, beginning to feel the alcohol buzz through his brain. This was his fifth or sixth pull, after all. 

“I want to drop it, too, believe me, but we aren’t finished,” said Theo. “See, you two think he chose to do this. That’s where you’re wrong.” 

“Very wrong,” Draco added. 

Pansy’s eyes widened. “I’m not going to pretend that I understand what it’s like to have a problem with eating, but surely the body doesn’t just  _ stop _ feeling hungry, just like that. It’s impossible. We’re naturally programmed to want to eat, several times a day. Anything less is unnatural, forced, surely.” 

Draco shook his head as Theo passed the bottle back to Blaise. 

“That’s not true, Pansy.” 

“What’s it going to take to get you to understand that Draco didn’t ask for this?” said Theo. 

Pansy pointed a finger at Draco. 

“He chose to do it. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.” 

Draco felt a wave of hurt wash over him. He tightened his grip on Theo’s hand further. Theo rubbed circles harder into his skin. 

“I didn’t,” he said. 

Blaise shook his head, passing the bottle to Pansy. “I don’t understand what’s going on, here. If Draco wasn’t doing it on purpose, it’s awfully convenient it happened right when he would have wanted our attention.” 

“I never wanted your attention,” Draco seethed. 

“Of course you did,” said Blaise, and Draco wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking, but he hardly recognized his friend in this state. 

“You were all alone because of what you did to Theo; of course you did.” 

“That’s in the past now,” said Theo, quick to jump to Draco’s defense. Pansy passed the firewhiskey to Greg, who gulped it greedily. 

“Draco and I already moved forward from that; there’s no use digging it up now.” 

“I wasn’t bringing it up to make Draco feel bad, I was bringing it up in juncture to why Draco decided to stop eating.” 

“For Merlin’s sake, he didn’t  _ decide,” _ said Greg, much to Draco’s gratitude. “People don’t  _ decide _ to stop eating. I have a cousin who suffered from a real eating disorder, far more severe than Draco’s. The fact that Draco’s been able to  _ single-handedly _ pull himself back up the cliff he nearly jumped off of is amazing, and he deserves a lot more credit than you’ve been giving him.” 

“We’re not discrediting him,” said Pansy as Greg passed the bottle to Draco. Draco sipped its contents hungrily, desperate for some, any release from this awful conversation he’d found himself entangled in. This time, Theo did not comment on how fast or how much he drank. 

“We’re only saying what we believe to be true,” said Pansy. “And we believe that Draco had a choice, in every sense of the word.” 

“Well, you’re wrong, then,” said Theo. “He didn’t choose. In fact, I cannot think of a single witch or wizard who would voluntarily stop eating just for shits and gigs.” 

“If we could all stop talking about this, that would be great,” said Draco, noticing that his words were starting to slur. With that in mind he passed the bottle to Theo. 

“Heed his wishes,” said Theo, taking a mighty gulp. “I’m done with this topic as well.” 

“But I don’t feel like we’re done talking,” said Pansy with a pout. 

“Too bad,” said Draco. “We are now.” 

“That isn’t fair,” said Blaise. “We’re only trying to help you, y’know, get a sense of what’s really going on-” 

“Well, it seems like you’ve already made up your mind about what’s going on,” said Draco icily. “You don’t need me to advocate for myself, now, do you.” 

“Draco, that isn’t what we meant-” 

“I’m just a poor little charity case to you, aren’t I, Pans? This is why we can’t be normal again. Give me that.” Draco snatched the bottle out of Theo’s hands and tilted his head back, downing its contents. 

Pansy flinched from the harsh words. 

“Stop that.” Theo placed a calming hand on Draco’s shoulders, but it only riled him up more. 

“Don’t touch me,” Draco hissed. Theo flinched, eyes widening. 

“You don’t have to be rude, Draco,” Pansy said quietly. Draco took another sip of firewhiskey in response. His head was swimming, but he didn’t care. He kept going. 

“Give it here.” He felt Theo pry the alcohol from his hands, and wasn’t sober enough to resist him. He sighed, deflating. 

“I’m sorry,” he said to Theo, earnestly. “I’m sorry I snapped. I’m just-” 

“It’s alright,” Theo soothed, as though it were just the two of them. “Just take it easy, okay?” 

Draco nodded as he watched his boyfriend’s Adam’s apple pulse with the next sip of alcohol. Once Theo passed the bottle to Blaise, Draco found Theo’s hand again and squeezed. 

Theo squeezed back, and Draco relished in the silent reassurance. Theo was so good to him; what had he done to deserve it? 

“You don’t know how bad I want you back, Draco.” Pansy’s broken voice cut into his thoughts, and he glanced at her hunched form. She sat with her face in her hands, squishing her cheeks, which were beginning to glow a faint pink from the alcohol. Her black bob was matted to her forehead; she looked like she needed a shower. Draco briefly wondered if he’d been too harsh with her; she didn’t even look like she was taking care of herself. Had he really affected her that much? 

Surely, he hadn’t been too harsh. What she’d put him through was horrible, and she deserved every minute of him ignoring her. But another part of him, the kind, forgiving part, felt wrong and cruel to do this to the person that was supposed to be his best friend. Or was that just the alcohol talking? 

“I want you too, Pans.” He rubbed circles onto Theo’s hand. “So much. You’re my best friend. It’s killing me, not telling you anything.” 

“Then tell me.” Pansy sat up straighter, eyes widening. “Tell me everything, Draco, I want to hear it all.” 

“Well, first off, what I did was not a  _ choice _ . Second off, it hurt me very much that you put your friendship with Theo before me; I thought you were my best friend, and you didn’t give me a chance.” 

Draco would have never admitted that sober, in front of the group nonetheless. He guarded himself very closely. But the alcohol was lowering his inhibitions, making him want to admit things he’d never dare say aloud sober, things he kept close to his heart and stored far away from the public or even the more intimate, private eye. 

“I know, Draco, I know and I’m so sorry. I was angry at you, angry that you hurt him for the second time.” 

“I never meant to-” 

“I know you didn’t  _ mean _ to,” she said as Blaise passed her the bottle. She took a few gentle swigs before passing it to Greg. “But you did, nonetheless, and it’s something that needed to be addressed. Still should, in my honest opinion.” 

“What do you think needs addressing, exactly?” 

“Well, whenever you’re placed in an uncomfortable or less-than-ideal situation, your gut instinct is to run away. I know that many people’s instinct is to run away, but they don’t follow through with it. They tough it out and bear it because the other person means more to them. What you did told us you were selfish, that you’d rather be a coward and run away than face who you really are.” 

Greg took a swift, deep pull before passing it to Draco. Draco gulped down its contents, needing a fair amount after hearing all that from Pansy. He hadn’t known she’d felt this way; it made her treatment toward him make a little more sense. But that didn’t make it okay. 

“I wasn’t trying to run from who I was,” said Draco. “I wasn’t ready for Potter to know that part of my life. Please tell me you can accept that.” 

“Why should it matter?” asked Pansy, and  _ fuck, _ that was exactly what Theo had said. Maybe he  _ did _ have an issue. 

“If you like somebody, Draco, who cares who knows? Even if it is Potter. I’m sure he wouldn’t judge you for it.” 

“It’s not that I think he’d judge me,” said Draco, taking another hefty swig. His vision began to blur. He passed the bottle unsteadily to Theo. 

“Then what is it?” Pansy pressed. 

“I just . . . Wasn’t ready. For him to find out. In that moment. You guys had just found out, and it was all too much.” 

“That’s where we miscommunicated,” said Pansy. You had established with Theo beforehand that you weren’t ready, and Potter coming in and completely unraveling your pathetic excuse at why you were flushed and sweating in the middle of the fucking evening had everything to do with why you weren’t ready to face what was going on.” 

“Exactly.” 

“See?” Pansy asked, nudging Blaise. “This is open and honest conversation. This is how friendships grow. Draco and I will come out of this stronger now.” 

“Don’t be getting any ideas,” Draco warned her. “I’m still cross with the both of you.” 

“Mate, if you say what you did wasn’t a choice, then I’ll try my best to believe you,” said Blaise. “It’s going to take some time, but I’ll believe you.” 

Draco wanted to be sick. Blaise was speaking like he was the one wronged. He swallowed down his hurt and plastered on a smile. He white-knuckled Theo’s hand, and suddenly Theo was tugging his hand, in front of him. 

“You alright?” 

And it was too much and everyone was looking at him and Greg had that  _ stupid _ sad look on his face like he had when Draco had shown up to the Hall and only eaten a few bites of his meal, and Pansy looked on the verge of tears, over him,  _ again _ , and Theo was repeating the question and Draco couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take it. 

Head rushing, he stood up only to be attacked by a wave of dizziness. He staggered on his feet, grasping onto the nearest bed pole. 

“Draco, where are you going?” came Theo’s concerned voice. 

“Out,” he managed, then left the room with fervent abandon. He stumbled down the stairs, and only vaguely registered the sound of footsteps following him. With that he quickened his pace, and staggered into the common room, looking for a place to sit to clear his head. Maybe he should go outside, but he was in his pajamas and didn’t feel like going back in for his robes and facing everyone. 

That was when he saw him. 

_ Potter.  _

Messy dark brown hair, glinting green eyes that looked like they could devour his soul alive. His outline was blurred, and he faintly registered that the boy was walking  _ closer  _ to him. 

_________________

Malfoy’s vision looked unfocused, and Harry felt a wave of concern for the other boy in spite of himself. He’d firmly told himself that Malfoy’s affairs were no longer any of his business, but then he’d gone and made Malfoy that stupid promise that if he ever needed, they could  _ talk _ . 

_ Talk.  _

What a blithering idiot he was. 

Of course Malfoy wouldn’t want to  _ talk _ with him. He seemed to keep forgetting that Malfoy wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. So why did Harry keep putting himself on the line for someone that didn’t give a shit? 

“Potter,” came the slur. Malfoy staggered forward, seeming to have trouble holding himself up. Merlin, how much had he had to drink? Albeit, it was late, but still . . . 

Harry sighed. “What is it, Malfoy?” 

“My friends are annoying me,” came the slurred response. Then Malfoy stepped closer to him. And closer. Until they were standing mere inches apart, and sharing air. Harry didn’t back away. Malfoy’s closeness was intoxicating. He could smell the liquor coating his breath. He breathed deeply, sighing, remembering his promise. 

“Annoying you how?” 

“They’re being all  _ concerned _ and  _ worried _ about me, and I don’like it, Potter, makes me upset.” 

Before Harry could ask the other to elaborate, Malfoy stumbled forward into his arms. 

“Whoa, whoa, easy!” Harry wrapped an arm around Malfoy’s thin waist and placed the other on his shoulder to steady him. It was at that moment another bloke showed up. 

Theodore Nott. 

“What do you think you’re doing? Get your hands off him,” Nott growled, yanking Malfoy out of Harry’s clutches. Merlin, since when was Nott so possessive? Was  _ this _ what Malfoy was talking about? 

“He fell on  _ me, _ you tosser,” Harry snarled. 

“I’ve got him,” said Nott, looking Harry in the eye. Then he turned his attention to Malfoy, stroking his shoulder. 

“Don’t just run out on us like that, Draco. You could’ve gotten hurt.” And it was then that Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Nott’s words to him had meant more than just the literal sense. 

But that would make Malfoy . . . There was no way. Was there? 

Malfoy leaned into the touch, seeming to reciprocate. He held onto Nott’s shoulder tightly. 

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled. 

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” He glared daggers at Harry as he carted Malfoy off without another word. Most perplexed, Harry watched them leave before rejoining Ron and Hermione in their circle of chairs. 

“What was that all about?” asked Ron. 

“Malfoy’s pissed,” he responded. 

“Not surprised,” said Hermione. 

A moment of silence, and then, 

“I really miss Ginny.” 

“I know you do, mate.” 

“She said we could still be friends, but we rarely talk.” 

“Harry, it’s going to take time,” said Hermione. “She’ll talk to you again. She probably just needs time to work through all this, as I’m sure you do.” 

“But I don’t want time to work through it,” said Harry, knowing while he spoke he sounded childish. “What we had was perfect. _ She _ was perfect. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t working.” 

“Did you ever wonder why?” asked Ron. “I mean, I know you said you couldn’t get it up for her. Who knows, maybe you’re into blokes or something.” 

Harry nearly choked. “Out of all the possibilities, that one is by far the least likely.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Hermione. “Ginny is really a lovely girl, and you guys couldn’t be intimate with each other. Something’s wrong with that picture.” 

“I really don’t want to talk about this right now,” said Harry. 

“You brought it up,” Ron reminded him. 

“I wish I hadn’t. I just miss when things were simpler, when I could make love to her like there was no tomorrow.” 

“Well, maybe you guys weren’t meant to be,” said Hermione. “Maybe there’s someone else out there waiting for you, who’s better for you than Ginny will ever be.” 

“Well, whenever they’re ready,” said Harry gruffly, unamused. “I’m here.” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lil angst, uni's going so well for me I'm really enjoying my writing workshops and my classmates' feedback on my work makes me smile oh so so much

“I’ll see you after class, love.” 

Draco shuddered from the casual pet name, though remained virtually unaffected as Theo planted a kiss atop his forehead. 

“I’ll see you.” Draco’s smiley response resulted in a dopey grin from the other boy, and Draco couldn’t resist but place his hands on his shoulders. 

“I’m gonna miss you.” The words were spoken with sincerity, although with the slightest bit of desperation. 

Theo chuckled. “That will make our reunion that much sweeter, then.” 

Draco sighed heavily, removing his hands from Theo’s shoulders and placing them on his hips. 

“Surely history isn’t that important? Surely you can skip it to spend time with me?” 

Theo shook his head sadly. “My grade depends on it, Draco. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Tell you what. If you go and find some place private, and jerk off to me, I’ll make it so much sweeter for you when I can finally get my hands on you. After envisioning you coming to the thought of me having my way with you, I won’t be able to resist you.” 

“And what if I don’t want to wait?” 

“Well, that’s just too bad.” Theo tossed him a wink. “This class is important; you of all people should know how important studies are. You know how many times you’ve blown me off so you could study with Pansy? This is the same thing. I’ll catch you later, my Dragon.” 

Draco flushed at the nickname. “I told you not to call me that where anyone can hear.” 

“And who’s listening?” Theo asked with a smirk, and Draco couldn’t really argue. 

“How important is this class to you, _really?”_ he couldn’t help but ask. 

“Super. I’ll see you later, definitely at dinner since you aren’t allowed to skip meals anymore.” 

Draco sighed. It wasn’t as easy as the others believed. He’d been trying, but he hadn’t been able to finish every meal. He hoped that was okay. What was important was that he was trying and no longer skipping. As long as at least Theo saw that, he was happy. 

“Don’t give me that, Draco, I’ll see you at dinner whether you like it or not since you have given your word to getting better.” 

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Whatever you say,” he said quietly. 

Theo frowned. “Do you have a problem with our current arrangement?” 

Draco shook his head frantically. “No, I don’t.” 

Theo sighed in relief. “Okay, good. It just felt like you weren’t with me for a second there.” 

“I am with you. This is just hard for me to do, since . . . you know.” Draco felt himself flushing. 

“Since you what?” Theo wasn't going to let it go, was he? 

“Since I stopped eating.” Draco played with the sleeves of his robes. Theo placed a hand over his own, forcing him to look up to the taller boy. 

“I know this can’t be easy for you.” Theo rubbed small circles over the pulse point of Draco’s wrists. Draco sighed shakily. 

“But you’ve been doing so well. I only want to see you continue to get better.” 

“Recovery isn’t linear, Theo. I’m trying my best. I can’t help it if some days I can’t finish a meal. It’s too much for me.” 

“I understand that. But I want you to at least try.” 

“I _am_ trying.” 

“Okay. Okay. I know you are, Draco.” 

Draco swallowed thickly. He had a feeling Theo was only saying that. 

“I’ll see you later, then,” Draco said, watery. “Have a good class.” 

Theo peered at him, seemingly worried. “You say that, and yet I don’t want to leave you alone right now.” 

“You can leave me alone. I’m fine. In fact, I _need_ some alone time before my next class.” 

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Theo brushed a hand across his cheek. “You’ll tell me if you feel any different, won’t you, Dragon?” 

Draco found himself nodding quickly against his boyfriend’s touch. “I will.” 

“Okay.” Theo pressed a quick kiss against his forehead, then let him go. “I’ll see you later.” 

“I’ll see you.” 

Draco waved him goodbye, then made his way back to the eighth year common room. Little did he know there were already some people waiting for him. Once he entered past the password, he was greeted with the sight of the last 3 people he wanted to see. 

“Hello, Malfoy.” 

Draco’s heart did a double take. It was Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas and Justin Finch-Fletchley. The same boys who had attacked him at the beginning of the semester. He gulped. 

“Fancy seeing _you_ here,” Dean Thomas seethed, curling his lip in disgust. 

“Wasn’t aware they were letting Death Eaters back into school,” said Justin. 

“You have _some_ nerve, walking around here like you belong,” said Finnegan. 

“What do you want?” asked Draco, realizing he sounded tired to his own ears. He wondered if Potter would stick up for him, or if he would take the side of his house mates. Then he realized it didn’t matter, because Potter was not here. 

“We want to inform you on a little something we think you’d like to know about,” said Justin Finch-Fletchley, sneering unkindly. 

Draco set his mask into place, realizing he’d already revealed too much about his emotional state to these boys. “What is it?” 

“You probably have no idea, do you?” 

“No idea _what?”_

“No idea that you sided with a madman who tortured Neville’s parents into _insanity.”_

Draco felt like he wanted to be sick. Of course Voldemort would torture Neville’s parents into insanity. He had almost tortured _his_ parents into insanity, and made Draco torture his parents until he hadn’t seen the line between sanity and insanity any longer. 

“I didn’t-” 

“Let’s just run this down,” said Thomas. “You sided on the war. With Voldemort, who tortured innocent people’s parents to prove a point. You sick fuck.” 

Draco felt bile in the back of his throat. 

“That wasn’t-” 

“Neville’s parents will never be the same again. Ever,” said Finnegan. “I dunno what part of insanity you don’t understand, but the fact that you’ve sided with a madman who would do such a thing to innocent witches and wizards astounds me to no end.” 

Draco found himself shaking his head back and forth rapidly, needing them to understand. “He-” 

“If you even try to say that you were forced into a decision that was completely of your own making, that’s laughable,” said Finch-Fletchley. “The facts are, you supported a madman who tortured our fellow wizards’ parents for amusement, and you’re branded by him forever, as a permanent mark of your misguided loyalty.” 

Draco rubbed his arm subconsciously. He swallowed thickly. “I’m not going to stand here and justify my choices to you,” he said quietly. 

“You don’t have to,” snarled Thomas. “Everything is perfectly clear. You chose the enemy side because you wanted muggleborns to be dead.” 

Draco gripped his left forearm, hard. 

“I never wanted them-” 

“Of _course_ you did,” exclaimed Finnegan. “You got marked by the enemy, which means you stood for everything the enemy stands for.” 

Draco shook his head. “That’s not true.” 

Finnegan cackled. “Of course it’s true! You _traitor_. You don’t deserve to be walking these halls when you wanted all of us, when you wanted Harry Potter dead.” 

“I didn’t want him dead.” Draco didn’t know how else to get them to understand. 

“Of course you did, you can stop denying it now, come on,” said Finch-Fletchley. “All purebloods wanted to be rid of blood impurities. We weren’t _good_ enough to you guys, were we?” 

“Stop,” Draco pleaded, feeling tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. 

“You can’t deny who you really are, Malfoy,” said Thomas. “You are someone who participated in the genocide of lesser-blood witches and wizards. The mark on your arm proves it. Go on, try and tell us we’re wrong. I’d be happy to hear your side if you think you behaved differently than how your mark says.” 

Draco blinked rapidly to rid his eyes of tears, touching his left arm subconsciously. He hated his mark. It represented everything he hated and didn’t believe. He wanted it off his body, although he knew there was no way he could ever remove it. He _despised_ it. 

“You can’t erase what your mark says,” said Finch-Fletchley. “It’s permanently etched on your skin- a forever reminder that you wished a certain group of witches and wizards were dead.” 

Draco set his features in a snarl to conceal his anguish. “If any of you were faced with the choice I had, I guarantee you would have done the same.” 

“And what choice was that, Malfoy?” Finnegan spat. “Because you hated us all half-bloods or less since the moment we set foot on Hogwarts soil.” 

Draco couldn’t argue- he had, at first. It had all been his father imparting certain ideals on him, and Draco wanting to impress his father by behaving exactly the way Lucius had expected. But eventually, he’d realized that his father’s opinion wasn’t worth shit, basically, and it was too late to change anybody’s minds about where he stood. 

But he couldn’t stand here and argue against Finnegan and Thomas and Finch-Fletchley because he had been unjust against half bloods and muggleborns when he’d first arrived at Hogwarts, and for a while after. He’d set quite a name for himself. 

“I didn’t hate you,” Draco tried. “I was raised a certain way, and-” 

“Who gives a fuck how you were raised?” exclaimed Finch-Fletchley. “What matters is how you make your _own_ decisions, and all you did was follow in your father’s footsteps.” 

“You never thought for yourself for a second,” scowled Thomas. “It was always Father-this, Father-that, you never once decided to form your own opinion and actually _talk_ to us. You decided that Gryffindors were inherently stupid without even talking to us.” 

“Is there something you want?” Draco asked, rashly. “Or can I be on my way?” 

“Oh, you can be on your way, Death Eater,” said Finch-Fletchley. “Since it’s clear you don’t give a fuck about this school or anybody here besides your own little Slytherin clan.” 

“You deserve to rot in hell, Malfoy,” Thomas seethed. “You prejudiced, know-it-all, piece of shit.” 

“Imagine what your father would think of you now,” Finnegan mused. “You let him down. Turns out, you can’t please anybody, can you?” 

“Think of all the people that were tortured to death because of _you,”_ said Finch-Fletchley. “All those Muggleborns. Every single one of their deaths is on your hands.” 

Draco bit his bottom lip and blinked back the tears forming in his eyes before he briskly walked away from the group of boys. He made it as far as the collection of chairs closest to the stairwell before his body decided to give up on him and break down. 

His shoulders trembled with the effort to suppress his tears, and he buried his face in his hands to keep from making any hideous noises as a sob tore through his body. All too soon, there was a hand rubbing at his shoulder gently. 

“Draco? Draco, what’s going on?” 

It was Pansy. 

Draco wanted to cry in earnest from the familiarity of the voice, and instead of answering he buried his face in his hands as another silent sob ripped through him. He wasn’t ready to fully trust Pansy again, and yet here he was in a situation where he needed her because she was near and willing and cared about him. He leaned into the voice, and she pulled him into an embrace. 

“Oh, Draco, shhh, shhh. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” he gasped, eyes wet as he clung onto her. He prayed to Merlin the common room wasn’t full enough to warrant the attention of other people. 

“It is,” Pansy insisted gently, rubbing his back in small circles. He hated how comforted he felt by the gesture. “It is.” 

“His parents were tortured to insanity,” Draco sobbed, clinging onto her shoulder as the tears continued to fall. Of course, Pansy wouldn’t have a clue who Draco was talking about, but she comforted him anyway. 

“Not your fault. Not your fault.” 

“It hurts, Pansy.” Draco pulled away from her, gesturing to his chest, then to his marked arm. “It hurts here. All the time.” 

_“Draco.”_ Pansy could only hold him as Draco continued to cry into her shoulder. Their reunion was much less happy than Draco could have anticipated, but right now he needed her presence and sadly, that was enough. 

“It’s going to be okay. You know that, right?” Pansy asked, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Draco shuddered, clinging onto her harder. 

“It won’t be. His parents are gone.” 

“Whose parents?” 

“Neville Longbottom’s.” 

Pansy sighed. “Draco, it isn’t your fault.” 

A fresh set of tears emerged in his eyes. 

“It isn’t. Come here.” 

Draco melted into her embrace, gasping for breath and clinging onto her shoulders as though his life depended on it. 

“You did what you had to do,” Pansy whispered fiercely. “You know that, right?” 

“I-I thought I did, b-but-” 

“No but’s. You would have been _killed.”_

“I-I c-could’ve found a way o-out of it-” 

“No. You couldn’t have. You were trapped.” 

Draco exhaled shakily, unsteady on his feet. Pansy guided him to a chair, and sat him down. 

“Just rest, Draco. Just sit for a minute.” 

“I could’ve asked Dumbledore for help, i-instead of, _i-ignoring_ him-” 

“You couldn’t have without the Dark Lord invading your mind. He watched over you guys 24/7,” said Pansy, dark, beady eyes wide with worry. “Would you have wanted the Dark Lord to use Legilimency on uou and see everything you were thinking, Draco?” 

“N-No.” 

“Exactly. You did only what you could have in the situation presented to you.” 

“I-I guess, but-” 

“There is no but’s. You were threatened, and tortured. I don’t know how much worse it’s supposed to get than that.” 

Draco remembered the white hot flares of agony coursing through him swift as a river. But he remembered even more the look on his mother’s face as he’d tortured her to near insanity. 

“I-I h-had to torture my mum, Pansy . . .” 

Pansy gasped. “Oh, Draco . . .” 

She pulled him into another hug, and he went without resistance. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, breathing in her flowery scent. Pansy’s arms snaked around his neck and held on for a long, long moment. 

Draco was the first to part away. “I’m s-sorry,” he said. 

“Draco, do not apologize,” Pansy instructed. “You’re telling me for the first time that _bastard_ made you torture Narcissa. You can hug me for as long as you want. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Draco sighed and hugged her again, feeling another sob coming on. 

“Oh, Draco, it’s okay,” Pansy hushed, rubbing his back. “Just let it all out, that’s it.” 

“I-I didn’t want to torture her. I s-swear I didn’t. I know I’m a prejudiced person but I never wanted to hurt anybody, much less my own mother.” 

“Oh, no, of course you didn’t, shhh, it’s alright” Pansy cooed, rocking him back and forth. Draco clung on for dear life. 

“And you’re not prejudiced, not anymore,” said Pansy. “I’ve seen the way you act around people now; you don’t have that same look of contempt in your eyes. You’re a changed man, Draco, and anyone who doesn’t see that is kidding themselves.” 

Draco half laughed, half sobbed as he buried his face in Pansy’s shoulder. “Sure would like to see at least one other person who notices that.” 

“Theo notices it,” said Pansy. “Surely you know he does?” 

“Besides Theo,” said Draco, feeling as though Theo had no choice but to acknowledge his improvements. He wanted an outsider perspective, someone who wasn’t so closely tied into him. Truthfully, if Draco was being really honest with himself, he wanted to know what _Potter_ thought of him. 

“Blaise notices it, and Greg.” 

“Can you name anybody besides our friend group?” 

Pansy’s hesitation told Draco everything he needed to know. 

“So you can only name our friend group?” 

“Draco-” 

“I don’t want just our friend group to notice.” 

“What brought this on? Did someone say something to you?” 

Draco bit his lip. “No.”

“Draco. Don’t lie to me. Tell me right now. Who talked to you?” 

“What makes you think someone talked to me?” 

“Because you’re only this upset once someone’s talked to you.” 

Draco sighed. “Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan and Justin Finch-Fletchley.” 

Pansy growled. “Those insufferable know-it-alls. Acting like they know more about your life than you do. Draco, they aren’t the ones that hit you with those hexes, are they?” 

They were. 

“Erm . . . I dunno. I was pretty out of it. It was hard to tell who hit me.” 

Pansy glared at him. “I need the truth. Did they hurt you?” 

“I said I dunno-” 

“Did they hurt you?” 

Draco sighed. “Pansy, you can’t tell anyone-” 

“So they _did_ hurt you!” 

“Shh!” he hissed. 

“I _knew_ it!” 

“Be _quiet!”_

“Draco, we have to tell someone, we have to tell Professor McGonagall-” 

“No, we don’t. It would be much better if we just left it alone-” 

“Don’t you want to tell somebody?” Pansy pressed, frowning. “For your sake?” 

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“B-Because, that would make everything so much more complicated, plus there’s no proof, and who would she believe, Pansy? A former Death Eater? Or someone from her own house?” 

“You don’t know unless you try.” Pansy’s words were soft, sad. 

Draco shook his head. “The answer is no.” 

Pansy sighed. “Alright, Draco. Whatever you say.” 

“I-I’m gonna go up to the dormitories now, if that’s okay. I need to be alone for a little bit.” 

“Okay.” Pansy pulled him in for one last embrace, and Draco let her. He knew what he needed to do next. 

____________

“It feels so weird being separate from her,” said Harry. Ron and Hermione were sitting next to him, around the fireplace. 

“So you’ve said,” chuckled Ron, trying to make light of the situation. 

“It’s like there’s a wall between us now,” said Harry. “She said she wants to still be friends, but I feel like every time I try to talk to her I look at her . . . and I can’t.” 

“It seems like she needs time,” said Hermione. “You know Ginny- she’d want to be friends with you every bit as much as you want to be friends with her. You’ve known each other forever. That doesn’t just go away. I just think she needs time to process.” 

“Process _what?”_ exclaimed Harry. “She’s the one who wanted to end things. _I_ should be the one processing.” 

“That’s exactly it, Harry,” said Hermione. “If she wanted to end things, she clearly had a reason that was outside her control. I saw the way she looked at you- she was _mad_ for you. Something went on that caused her to think differently, and from what she’s told me so far it’s had everything to do with the way you treated her.” 

“I did everything for her,” insisted Harry, feeling a stab of hurt. “I was kind, passionate, and loving to her. What more did she want from me?” 

But even as he asked the question, he knew what was missing. Their sex life was missing the _it_ -factor, the thing that drove him to spontaneously jump on her and make love to her without an explicit plan beforehand to do so. 

Ron shrugged. “That’s for you to figure out, mate. All I know is, I don’t want you two together if it’s going to cause this much conflict.” 

“We had no conflict,” said Harry. “That’s why I don’t understand where this came from.” 

“Maybe that’s precisely the problem, Harry,” said Hermione. “Maybe everything was too perfect.” 

Before they could continue with their conversation, Harry heard a pair of footsteps. He swiveled around in his chair to greet the intruder. 

It was Draco Malfoy. 

Harry looked at him closely. His blonde hair was disarrayed, and his grey eyes were rimmed with red. He looked a right state, though he was too polite to comment on the other’s appearance. It was none of his business. 

“Malfoy,” Ron snarled, hostile, causing Malfoy to flinch. “What do you want?” 

“Actually, Weasley, I’m here to apologize. To you and Granger.” 

Harry stifled a gasp. Surely Malfoy couldn’t be serious? 

Hermione actually stood up in her seat. “Is that so, Malfoy? What are you sorry for, then?” 

Malfoy gulped. “Erm, Granger, I’m sorry for calling you a Mudblood. That was wrong of me.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened, but her resolve did not crack. “Apologizing doesn’t undo it, you know.” 

“I know.” Malfoy’s delicate voice pierced through Harry’s eardrums. 

“Anything you want to say to me?” Ron asked. 

“I-I’m sorry for calling you and your family a blood traitor, Weasley.” 

“And why are you sorry?” Ron challenged him, none too kindly. 

“I-I r-realize it was wrong,” said Malfoy, clearly floundering. “And you both are more than your blood type.” 

“Well, there’s an observation,” said Hermione. 

“Congratulations,” snarled Ron, “you’ve learned how to think with your own mind. This causes for celebration, don’t you think?” 

Malfoy fiddled with the tie of his robes. “I was only-” 

“You thought you could come over here and apologize and erase seven years of cruelty?” Ron asked. 

“No, but I-” 

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I-I dunno, I’ll go, I-I’m sorry-” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” said Hermione. “Because unfortunately for you, neither Ron, Harry, nor I care about anything you have to say.” 

Malfoy’s eyes met Harry’s in a flash, and Harry for a split second saw all the pain behind them. Then they were gone, and Malfoy was looking down at the ground and toying with his robes again. 

“R-Right, of course. I’ll g-go, then.” 

“And don’t bother coming back, you filthy Death Eater,” Ron growled. 

Malfoy’s shoulders hunched down as he walked away. Harry couldn’t help but feel concerned, though he knew he couldn’t voice such worries to his friends. 

“Prick,” muttered Ron. 

“Who the hell does he think he is, honestly?” asked Hermione. “Coming up to us and trying to apologize, like one ‘I’m sorry’ can erase seven years of mistreatment?” 

“It’s crazy,” said Harry, pretending to agree and not acting at all like Malfoy’s attempt at an apology had affected him, which it hadn’t. It hadn’t. 

__________________

“This is a very serious accusation, Ms. Parkinson.” 

Headmistress McGonagall and Pansy sat across from each other in McGonagall’s office. 

“I have a direct confession from the victim,” Pansy said. “Draco Malfoy admitted to-” 

“Say no more, Ms. Parkinson,” said McGonagall. “I’ll look into it. Thank you for bringing the issue back to my attention. With trying to acclimate our first years, it . . . dare I say, slipped my mind.” 

“I know Draco isn’t exactly a model student,” said Pansy-

“Actually, his marks are incredibly high,” said McGonagall. 

Pansy’s eyes widened. “Even this year?” 

“Especially this year.” 

“Oh. Well, anyway, I know he isn’t . . . Erm, the most . . . sympathetic of students, but these boys are really hurting him, and it needs to stop.” 

“Thank you for coming to me with this issue, Ms. Parkinson. I’ll look into it.” 

And Pansy supposed that was the best she could do for the time being. The next thing to do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pleasee lmk what you think, I so enjoy feedback it means absolutely everything to me


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angst

“Do you boys know why I’ve called you here today?” 

Justin, Seamus and Dean refrained from exchanging any nervous glances. They remained stoic, unemotional. They knew what would happen if they revealed any bout of weakness; McGonagall would rip them to shreds. 

Though occurring much later than anticipated, the boys still stuck to the script. 

“No,” said Justin. 

“That’s interesting,” said McGonagall. “I’ll give you another chance to revise your answer once I remind you that I take issues of bullying very seriously, Mr. Finch-Fletchley.” 

Justin swallowed. 

“Headmistress, we really don’t know what this is about,” said Seamus. 

“You’re young boys,” said McGonagall. “Surely your memories are fresh enough that I don’t need to remind you. Although the incident happened over a month ago, I intend to get to the bottom of it, and you three are my prime suspects.” 

“Headmistress,” began Justin, “I can assure you that none of us would do anything to intentionally harm another student here unless it was out of self defence.” 

“Self defence?” 

“Right, well if you know that Draco Malfoy was attacked, you also must know that he provoked us, right?” 

McGonagall’s eyes widened. “This was not brought to my attention, no.” 

“Yes, Headmistress. I can tell you the full story.” 

“Proceed.” 

“The three of us were walking from the Astronomy Tower. Coincidentally, we run into Malfoy. He puts on a sneer and turns his nose up at us, saying that us lowlife half bloods had no place wandering the halls of Hogwarts. He can’t even get my blood type right; I’m a Muggle born.” 

Dean stifled a snort. Seamus shook his head. 

McGonagall frowned. “It pains me to hear that his prejudiced views have not died out with the war. I thought he was a changed person.” 

“He’s very cunning,” said Dean. “He can fool anybody into thinking he’s changed so he can get what he wants.” 

“An excellent liar, too,” added Seamus. “Have you questioned him already?” 

“No.” 

“Well, be prepared. He’ll turn on his sultry tone, just like his father, and talk about how he views people as  _ more than their blood type _ . Filthy liar. There’s nothing I hate more than a liar. Then he’ll whine for a while about how badly we hurt him.” 

“Mr. Malfoy  _ was _ hurt, and I have an anonymous tip suggesting that his injuries were directly caused by you three.” 

“We’re getting there, Headmistress,” said Justin. “I told him to leave us alone, and then he whipped his wand out, pointing it at me.” 

McGonagall’s eyes widened. “It’s my understanding that Mr. Malfoy’s wand has been legally restricted. He wouldn’t have been able to inflict any harm upon you.” 

“But we didn’t know that,” said Justin. 

McGonagall nodded slowly. “So to my understanding, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, you are telling me that Mr. Malfoy threatened to attack you?” 

“Worse than that,” snarled Justin. “He threatened my friends.” 

“How did he do that?” 

“After pointing his wand at me, promising a hex if I didn’t learn my place in the wizarding world, he turned his wand on Dean, calling him a dimwitted halfblood who didn’t deserve to be here.” 

“Be here, on this earth, or at this school?” 

“He didn’t clarify. Knowing how deep his hatred runs, I’m assuming the former.” 

“So far I’m only hearing threats,” said McGonagall. “So far, I’m still hearing that you three made the first move in hurting him.” 

“Not to our knowledge,” said Justin. “He waved his wand like he was going to cast a spell, so I reacted on instinct and hit him with stupefy. Unfortunately, Dean had the same reaction, and both spells hit him at the same time. Which is why he was rendered unconscious.” 

McGonagall’s expression darkened. “I see.” 

“There’s more, Headmistress,” said Seamus. “Harry Potter was there.” 

_____________

Harry was minding his own business, studying in the common room, when the peace was infiltrated by three people he hadn’t seen in quite some time. 

“Harry? Can we have a word?” It was Justin Finch-Fletchley, accompanied by Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. 

“Of course,” Harry said politely, putting down his Charms textbook and standing up. He had finally gotten some time alone, and of course now it was being intruded. He hoped whatever they wanted was fast. 

“McGonagall spoke to us today,” said Justin, tone hushed. “About the Malfoy incident.” 

Harry’s eyebrows crept into his hairline. “Circe’s tits, I completely forgot about that.” 

“So did we, which is why we’re reminding you of the story.” 

Harry frowned. “Wait a minute, what story?” 

“Remember you said you’d have our side on this, Harry?” asked Dean. Harry nodded, feeling his discomfort grow. Something was off; he could sense it. 

“Well, now’s the time.” 

“What do you want me to do?” 

“We need you to pretend that you were there with us when we hit Malfoy with those stunning hexes.” 

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “What? Are you mad? That’s a whole lot more complicated than agreeing with what happened! Why would you drag me into it like that?” 

“McGonagall wouldn’t have been able to get him in trouble. There was no proof- only his word against ours. You’re our alibi.” 

“I don’t want to be your alibi!” 

“Remember what we told you?” Dean asked him. “How Malfoy provoked us and called us names?” 

“Yes.” Harry was still upset that Malfoy had lied to him about that. He had directly confronted the boy, given him the chance to be honest and own up, and Malfoy had still completely disregarded him and brushed it off like it was nothing. Did he even care at all? 

“Well, there’s more that happened that we didn’t tell you.” Dean wrung his hands together. 

“What happened?” Harry asked, dread creeping in. 

“He pulled his wand out on us,” said Justin. 

“He did what? Completely unprovoked? Just, called you names and pulled his wand out on you? Has he gone mad?” 

“More like his regular self!” 

“Not unprovoked,” said Seamus. “We tripped him as a joke, remember, and he probably wanted revenge.” 

“I still don’t understand,” said Harry. 

“I dunno,” said Justin, looking straight into Harry’s eyes. “He probably wanted to scare us. He didn’t know we knew his wand had been restricted, so he failed to use that to his advantage.” 

“I still don’t understand,” said Harry. “What would Malfoy have to gain from attacking you? And if you knew his wand was restricted, why did you attack him?” 

“Satisfaction at hurting someone who isn’t pureblood?” Seamus asked. “That’s what his kind do.” 

“Like we’re supposed to know the extent of his restrictions?” asked Justin. “We weren’t about to chance it.” 

A small part of Harry wanted to defend Malfoy. The story made no sense, on one hand, but on the other hand this was  _ Malfoy _ they were talking about. The story could very well make perfect sense, and Harry just hadn’t seen it because he’d been wooed by Malfoy’s tricks as of late. Malfoy could have put that entire show of fainting on to gain his trust. He could have lied about the nightmare, to make himself seem more vulnerable and human to Harry. He could have lied about everything. Harry didn’t know him; he had no idea what the other’s intentions truly were. 

_ But what about his friends, the way they had treated him in the kitchens?  _

Could have been an act. Or that part of the story could have been true. Harry didn’t know. 

“That’s true, I suppose,” said Harry. 

“Exactly,” said Justin. 

“Malfoy has done nothing but lie and cheat and brag and bully these past seven years,” said Harry, frowning in realization. Malfoy was  _ not _ a good person. He’d been duped. What was he thinking? 

“And here I was thinking he may be a somewhat decent person.” 

“Oh, Harry.” Dean shook his head. “Malfoy’s a snake. He manipulates people into thinking he’s better than he actually is. It’s his signature personality trait.” 

“He tried it on me on the train, first year,” said Harry, reflecting back to that fateful day where he’d rejected Malfoy’s handshake. The hurt and humiliation in Malfoy’s eyes, the curling of his lip as Harry had told him he could figure out “the wrong sort” for himself. Harry would never forget the look on Malfoy’s face that day. Some days it almost had him wonder if Malfoy’s offer for friendship had been genuine. 

But then he reminded himself that first and foremost, Malfoy was a bully, and bullies did not deserve second chances. 

“What happened?” asked Seamus. 

“He tried to be my friend. By telling me I should watch out for Muggle borns.” 

“That’s sick.” 

“Disgusting.” 

“What is wrong with him?” 

“I dunno what I was thinking, criticizing you guys for using that spell against him,” said Harry. “The git deserved it even if he hadn’t threatened you first. And he has some nerve lying to my face about it.” 

“So you’ll tell McGonagall you were there?” 

Angered that he was played so adeptly, he made up his mind. 

“I will.” 

______________

Draco’s knee bounced uncontrollably. He looked up at Headmistress McGonagall, wondering why he had been summoned here to her office. He didn’t know what he’d done; his marks had been good, he had kept his head down and stayed out of trouble. So why was he here? 

“Mr. Malfoy, I would like to tell you why I’ve called you here today, but I’d rather hear it from you.” 

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. He was in trouble. He was certainly in trouble. 

“Erm . . . I dunno, Headmistress.” 

“You don’t know?” 

Draco swallowed at the firmness of her tone. “No.” 

“So to be clear, you have no memory of insulting and pointing your wand at four students?” 

_ What? _

“W-What are you talking about?” 

“I don’t take kindly to lying, Mr. Malfoy,” said McGonagall, eyes sharp. “I’m giving you a chance to explain yourself.” 

“But I never-” 

“I have testimonies from all four students saying otherwise.” 

Draco wanted to ask her who they were, but that would just dig him in a deeper hole. Someone had framed him, and done an excellent job at it. 

“Professor, please forgive me but I have no idea what you’re talking about. When are they saying this happened?” 

“A month ago. The exact time you were injured, Mr. Malfoy.” 

Draco gasped.  _ Those bastards _ . 

“I-I wasn’t- Professor, I didn’t insult them, I didn’t even raise my wand-” 

“Denial will get you nowhere, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said coldly. “I’m going to have to add on to your punishment as a result of your lying. You will serve detention with me once a week for the rest of the year.” 

“But professor, I didn’t-” 

“You are dismissed.” McGonagall folded her arms and glared at him. “I am very disappointed in you.” 

Draco frowned. These days it felt like  _ everyone _ was disappointed by him. He stood up from his chair on shaky legs. 

“I know this looks bad,” said Draco, “but my wand’s restricted, as you know. I couldn’t have harmed them even if I’d wanted to. They attacked me unprovoked.” 

“That is what Ms. Parkinson told me,” said McGonagall. “But all four of the students you threatened and insulted disagree.” 

“Wait a minute, Pansy came to you about this?” 

“That is not of your concern, Mr. Malfoy,” said McGonagall. “What is of your concern will be arriving on time for your detentions and staying as late as I deem necessary.” 

“And you keep saying four people. There were only three attackers.” 

“Ms. Parkinson left out the important detail of the fourth person as well,” McGonagall said with a sigh. “Surely you didn’t hit your head that hard, Mr. Malfoy?” 

“It was Finch-Fletchley, Finnegan and Thomas. They attacked me, professor.” 

“You’re forgetting someone, don’t you think?” asked McGonagall. “You threatened, insulted, and put your wand up to put these people unaware of your wand’s restriction under the impression that you were going to attack them. You did these unspeakable things to  _ Harry Potter _ , who as you recall saved our entire world this summer.” 

Draco’s eyes widened.  _ Potter _ had framed him? 

“I-I don’t believe it,” he whispered, feeling faint. “Actually, I do. He hates me. This is exactly what he would do.” 

“I don’t know what you’re going on about, Mr. Malfoy, but I have already dismissed you and do not want to ask you to leave my office a third time.” 

Draco crossed his arms around his chest and turned away from her, slowly making his way out of her office. 

Later that evening, at dinner he spoke of the events to his friends. 

“Something’s not right,” said Pansy. 

“You went to McGonagall after I specifically asked you not to,” said Draco. “And look what happened.” 

Pansy frowned. “You don’t need to be such an arse, Draco. I was only trying to help.” 

“Look where ‘helping’ got me.” 

“Come off it,” Theo comforted, rubbing his back. “It’s only once a week. You’ll live.” 

“It’s not about the detention, it’s about-” 

“The principle of the thing, yeah, we know,” said Greg. 

“Doesn’t seem like Potter to frame you,” said Blaise. “Bloke seems to have bigger fish to fry, no offense.” 

“None taken,” Draco muttered hotly. 

“Potter would absolutely frame him,” said Pansy. “They hate each other.” 

Draco didn’t know how to tell his friend that he dreamt of Potter rescuing him in his sleep, how he used the vision of Potter rescuing him to calm himself down from his panic attacks. He wasn’t sure hatred was the correct emotion applied here. 

______________

“Still no word from Ginny?” Hermione asked, toying with her yarn absentmindedly. She set her knitting needles down and focused her attention on Harry. 

“None,” Harry affirmed. “It’s like she’s a ghost. I just don’t understand. You’re a woman- you may have a better grasp on these sorts of things than I do. Why is it that she would leave me instead of trying to openly communicate about our sex life?” 

Hermione sighed. “Harry, I think we both know what she wanted isn’t something that can be communicated. It just  _ is.”  _

“So there’s something wrong with me.” 

“No, nothing’s wrong with you. You and Ginny just aren’t the right match.” 

“Everything was so perfect. I miss her, Hermione.” 

“I know you do. She misses you too.” 

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.” 

“Just because she isn’t letting it on to you doesn’t mean it isn’t true. And besides, space is what you both need right now to figure yourselves out.” 

But Harry had a distinct feeling Hermione was only talking about him. 

“And that’s exactly why I don’t think things were working,” continued Hermione, resuming her knitting. “You two were too perfect- something was bound to happen.” 

“Maybe I wanted perfect,” said Harry. “What’s wrong with perfect?” 

“It’s  _ impossible.” _

“Ginny  _ is _ perfect. She’s beautiful, smart, witty, sexy, fun . . . She’s everything I could want in a wife. And she just left me. Like it was nothing.” 

“Believe me, Harry, to her it was not nothing.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

Hermione shook her head. “What you need is a little experimentation. Maybe . . . erm, maybe girls aren’t for you. Who knows unless you try?” 

Harry felt his cheeks flush a deep crimson. “I am not into blokes.” 

Hermione peered closer at him, and smirked. “Alright, Harry.” 

An uncomfortable silence followed in her wake. Harry, feeling heated for reasons he could not identify, returned to his Astronomy homework. Hermione continued to knit. 

“Potter.” 

Malfoy’s ice cold voice pierced through the silence, startling the pair. Hermione sat up further in her chair, furrowing her brows. Harry swiveled around to glance at the intruder. 

Malfoy looked livid, angrier than Harry had ever seen him. His lip was curled up into a mirthless sneer, and his eyes were narrowed with contempt. His normally slicked back hair fell down around his face, creating a halo effect. If Harry weren’t afraid he were about to get jumped he might find it rather pretty. 

“Care to explain yourself?” the Slytherin snarled. “That stunt you just pulled?” 

“I dunno, Malfoy, care to tell me why you insulted and pulled your wand on three of my friends?” 

“We both know I did nothing of the sort.” 

“Really, Malfoy? You’re going to stand there and lie to me? Again?” 

“What do you mean again?” 

“In the hospital wing. I asked you why you picked a fight with them, and you denied it.” 

Malfoy’s eyes softened, only by a fraction. “Because I didn’t, Potter. You know that. Why did you frame me?” 

_ “Frame _ you? You really have gone mad.” Harry chanced a glance at Hermione, who looked concerned. Then he looked back to Malfoy, whose face had only gotten angrier. 

“I dunno what sick game you’re playing at,” said Malfoy, “but you need to tell McGonagall the truth. Those boys attacked me unprovoked.” 

“I dunno what to tell you,” said Harry. “Seamus and the others told me that you insulted them, saying that they didn’t deserve to be at Hogwarts. Then you whipped your wand out at them. Who do you honestly expect me to believe?” 

“My wand’s restricted, you know that,” said Malfoy, tone aflame with white hot rage. “And I really regret telling you.” 

“And I regret even for a split second considering your offer of friendship,” said Harry in response. 

Malfoy’s eyes widened, fists going slack.  _ Good.  _

“I regret not naming you in the Manor like I should have.” 

Harry’s chest clenched. Surely he didn’t mean that? But if that was how he wanted to play it, two could participate. 

“You know what I regret even more? Saving you from the Fiendfyre.” 

Harry knew as soon as the words were out he’d gone too far. Malfoy’s mask crumpled, and Harry could see all the anguish in his expression. 

Malfoy took a step back, cold glare falling right back into place. “I regret giving you my wand.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you fuck off and bother somebody else?” 

“Why don’t you stop lying and tell me why you and your friends thought it was funny to attack me and then lie about it?” 

“Why don’t you tell me why you thought it was funny to devise an entire fainting scheme just to get my attention and make me feel sorry for you?” 

Malfoy’s eyes widened, expression softening instantly. “That wasn’t-” 

“I mean  _ come on _ , Malfoy, fainting? Really? Like you think I wouldn’t notice?” Harry asked. 

“I-I didn’t-” 

“I bet your friends weren’t even mad at you, either, you lying, manipulative piece of shit.” 

Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not sure why you think I’m lying about that, I really fainted.” 

“How convenient that it happened to be right when I could save you, don’t you think?” Harry asked. “Harry bloody Potter, the bloody Saviour. With a hero complex. Probably did that just so you could rub it in my face and laugh about it with your friends, didn’t you?” 

Malfoy’s expression continued to deteriorate. Whereas before he had been cold and obsolete, now Harry could see layers of pain coating his pointy features. He wondered why that was. Surely Malfoy didn’t care about him? 

Malfoy shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean- That wasn’t-” 

“Don’t bother. I don’t want to hear any of your pathetic excuses.” 

Malfoy’s lips curled down into a deep frown before he turned around and walked away. 

Harry sighed heavily, turning back to Hermione, who looked at him with her mouth agape. 

“What?” 

“You didn’t have to be so harsh with him.” 

_ “You’re _ the one who rejected his apology yesterday. Talk about being harsh!” 

“That’s different.” 

“How so?” 

“Because we all know he’s not really sorry. So he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. But you, Harry . . . You didn’t have to stoop like that. Sinking to his level, saying things you don’t mean.” 

“But I did mean them. Every single one.” 

“You know you didn’t mean the Fiendfyre thing.” 

Harry shook his head. “I’m starting to think I did.” 

_________________

Draco trudged upstairs to the dormitories, Potter’s words hanging heavily on his mind. 

_ “You know what I regret even more? Saving you from the Fiendfyre.” _

Anger, hurt, and confusion swirled in his stomach. He walked briskly down the hallway and burst open the doors to his dorm room. 

“Draco?” Theo was lying on his bed, but stood up to greet him. Everyone else was gone. 

“Hey,” said Draco, voice sounding strange to his own ears. 

“I saw you talking to Potter on my way up here. What happened?” 

“Nothing,” Draco said lightly. 

“Nothing?” 

“It wasn’t a big deal. I confronted him, he got upset about it. That’s it.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“It was nothing,” Draco said passively, feeling a strange fluttery feeling in his chest. Potter regretted saving him from the Fiendfyre. He wasn’t safe against his panic attacks anymore. 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Theo frowned. “What did he say to you?” 

“I confronted him for framing me, and he just . . . acted like it was all my fault. That’s all.” 

“Draco . . . Did he say anything else?” 

“No.” 

“So that’s it, then? He acted like it was your fault. That’s what’s got you all upset?” 

“I’m not  _ upset.”  _

“So to clarify, you’re perfectly fine?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hmm.” Theo took Draco’s hands in his, rubbing small circles. “I still don’t believe you.” 

Draco sighed. “I-I don’t understand, why would he do this to me? He thinks I started a fight with the others. He must have told McGonagall.” 

“C’mere.” Theo pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back. “You’re all tense. Would you like a back massage?” 

Draco practically melted into the embrace. “That would be wonderful.” 

“I’m going to get the full truth out of you eventually, Draco.” 

“That is the full truth.” 

“What did he say that made you this upset?” 

“Nothing. I’m just upset at this situation.” 

Theo seemed to buy the excuse, at least for now, much to Draco’s gratitude, for he guided him to the bed, allowed him to lie down and rubbed his back for fifteen minutes. Then they cuddled, Draco resting his head on Theo’s chest. 

“You don’t have to keep everything all bottled up,” Theo told him, rubbing circles on his arm. “You can tell me things, you know.” 

“I know.” 

Draco felt guilty keeping a secret from Theo, but he decided it was better this way. If Theo knew how much Potter’s words affected him, he might not take kindly to it. And Theo, at least in Draco’s opinion, was better when he took kindly to things. 


	18. Chapter 18

“Something on your mind, mate?” 

Harry wished his best friend weren’t quite so apt at reading him. Because the thing that was most definitely on his mind was the last thing he wanted to talk to Ron about. 

“Not really,” he answered passively. 

“I think you’re lying.” 

Hermione peeked up from her Potions parchment. “You’re never this quiet. What’s going on?” 

Harry sighed. “You don’t want to know.” 

“Clearly we do,” said Ron. 

He hadn’t told them how for the past two nights since the incident he’d been wracked with confusion, a firm and pressing feeling that he had made the wrong choice. 

“It’s about Malfoy, isn’t it,” said Hermione, clipped. 

“It isn’t what you think,” Harry said limply. “I’m not obsessing over him again, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“We aren’t worried- yet,” said Ron. 

“Do you think he really fainted, Hermione?” Harry blurted. 

Hermione’s chocolate brown eyes narrowed at him. “Do I think he really fainted?” she echoed. “As I believe that faking a fainting stunt is petty and unnecessary, even for Malfoy, and seeing how ill he looked in your arms, yes. I believe he really fainted.” 

Ron’s eyes widened. “In your arms? You were  _ holding _ him?” 

“Only because I didn’t want him to crack his head open.” 

“Would’ve saved us all a giant headache,” Ron mumbled, seemingly unaware of the irony of his word choice. 

“I know he’s a git, but I don’t want him to die,” Harry said. If he was being really truthful with himself, he wanted more than for Malfoy not to die. A part of himself he’d so carefully tucked away wanted to see Malfoy healthy and happy again, though he’d stifled that so effectively most days he did not even think about it. 

“He didn’t seem to care about who lived or died when he set Death Eaters loose into the school,” said Ron. “Bill has the scars to prove it.” 

“I know,” said Harry. “Believe me, I know.” 

“So why do you care so much?” Ron pressed. “Do you feel wrong about lying to McGonagall?” 

“Yes,” Harry answered truthfully, without hesitation. 

“As you should,” said Hermione. “That was irresponsible. If Malfoy somehow manages to appeal his punishment and prove his innocence to McGonagall, you’re in bigger trouble than he is.” 

“I’m having trouble deciding if I should trust Dean, Seamus and Justin’s version of events,” said Harry. “It seems suspicious that they’d need to bring me in as a witness.” 

“I believe them,” said Ron. “It is very much like Malfoy to pick a fight and threaten people.” 

“It is,” Harry agreed. “Which is why I took their side. I’d choose their word over Malfoy’s in a heartbeat. But I have a nagging feeling something’s wrong.” 

“So there you have it,” said Ron. “You just answered your own question. You were wondering whether you should believe Malfoy, or Dean and the others, and you chose Dean.” 

“I did,” Harry said in realization. “When I visited Malfoy in the hospital, he looked so confused when I asked him why he picked the fight. I figured it was all an act to save his own skin. But what if it wasn’t?” 

“Malfoy’s excellent at manipulating people,” said Hermione. “He’s gotten inside your head he’s so good at it. He has a special talent for making others feel sorry for him when he’s the one in the wrong.” 

“He does,” Harry agreed. 

“He’s such a drama queen,” said Ron. 

“Not arguing with you there.” 

“So are you all squared away? Can we stop talking about the slimy ferret now?” 

“I dunno,” Harry said. “Something still feels off. I dunno how to explain it.” 

“That would be the manipulation,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. 

“I dunno if it is, though,” said Harry. “Because what would Malfoy have to gain from manipulating me? As far as I know, there’s nothing he wants from me.” 

“He doesn’t have to want anything,” said Ron. “It’s a sick, twisted game he plays. Reeling you in with little white lies and next thing you know, he’s fabricated an entire story that you’re fully invested in.” 

“I can’t put a finger on it,” said Harry, “but something’s wrong, and I know it’s wrong. And I’m going to get to the bottom of it. Even if that means talking to Malfoy.” 

“You’re making a classic mistake, mate.” 

“The worst that could happen is I have to endure his presence for a brief period of time. At best, I learn the truth about what really happened.” 

“Why you’d want to voluntarily put yourself in his presence is beyond me,” said Ron. 

“Trust me, I don’t want to, either, but something’s going on and I need to figure it out.” Harry refrained from telling his friends he’d already lost sleep over it. 

“What makes you so sure?” asked Hermione. 

“They attacked him in the beginning of the semester, remember? You were with me.” 

A look of growing realization bloomed on Hermione’s face. “Harry . . .” 

“Unprovoked. They tripped him and kicked him on the ground unprovoked. If they had the capacity to do it once, I wonder if they would do it again. I know hexing is a more serious offense, but . . . Ugh! This is so frustrating. I dunno what to believe.” 

“Wait a minute, they tripped him?” asked Ron. “I’m not Malfoy’s biggest fan or anything, but that’s just downright childish.” 

“Harry, it’s not your responsibility,” said Hermione. “What’s done is done. Malfoy’s gotten his punishment for whipping his wand out on Dean and the others, and you can carry on with your business.” 

“But it doesn’t  _ feel _ right,” insisted Harry. 

Hermione sighed. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” 

“Not this time.” 

“Just whatever you do, be careful. Even though his wand’s restricted, he could resort to other methods of hurting you. Psychological hurt.” 

Harry scoffed. “I don’t think I’m capable of being hurt by Malfoy, in any sense of the word.” 

“You two have quite a colorful history. I wouldn’t be surprised if he found some way to have an effect on you.” 

Harry felt his cheeks heat up.  _ What? _

“I dunno what you’re getting at, but really, this is all just for my own peace of mind.” 

“For your piece of mind. So to clarify, this doesn’t have anything to do with you caring about Malfoy’s well being?” 

If possible, his cheeks pinkened further. “Absolutely not.” A blatant lie. He was doing this almost solely because he realized that he cared about the grey-eyed Slytherin, whether he liked it or not. 

Why else would he get so angry at him? Why else would they constantly go at each other? Why else would Harry feel as though something were wrong when he got in trouble? 

“If I find out Seamus, Dean and Justin were lying to me, they’re dead.” 

“They probably weren’t,” said Ron. “You seem to keep forgetting this is Malfoy we’re talking about.” 

“Trust me, I remember,” Harry scowled. “But something’s wrong and I can’t shake it.” 

“Whatever you say,” sighed Hermione. 

“You’re setting yourself up for humiliation,” said Ron. 

“Maybe I am,” conceded Harry. “Or maybe I’m going to learn the truth and stop someone from getting punished for a crime they didn’t commit.” 

“Why do you care so much?” asked Ron. “What’s it to you? If anything, you’ll be the one who gets punished instead.” 

“It’s not that I  _ care,” _ said Harry, lying straight through his teeth, “but it’s the right thing to do.” 

“How noble.” 

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” said Hermione. “You realize that, right?” 

“Of course,” said Harry passively. 

She peered closer at him, skeptically. 

“And you don’t have anything you need to prove to anyone, least of all us.” 

“I know.” 

“Mate, some days I’m beginning to wonder if you’re alright in the head.” Ron’s clipped tone sliced through Harry like a knife. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You contradict yourself. One minute you hate Malfoy and the next it’s like you care about him or something.” 

“I do not care about him!” 

“Then why are you doing this?” 

“Out of principle.” 

“Do you mean to tell me that there is no emotion whatsoever behind this at all?” 

“None.” 

“What about your feeling that something’s wrong?” asked Hermione. “Why do you feel that way?” 

“I dunno, I just do.” 

“I don’t think you’d feel that way if you didn’t care about Malfoy,” said Ron. 

“For the last time,” Harry said scathingly, “I do not care about Malfoy. I care about being  _ lied _ to by my friends. I know something isn’t right about the situation, I can feel it. And I need to figure this out. Are you going to support me, or not? It’s simple.” 

Hermione’s gaze lingered on her Potions homework. “It’s not that we don’t support you,” she mumbled to the parchment. 

“We just don’t want to see you wasting energy on someone who doesn’t deserve it,” said Ron. 

Harry didn’t know if Malfoy was lying anymore. He wanted to find out, and he had a distinct feeling that the only way to do that would be to talk to him. He’d gotten quite good at reading people, and Malfoy had his certain tells. Though he guarded his emotions very carefully, Harry could see everything in those eyes. His eyes gave way to secrets of his soul that Harry found fascinating as he did terrifying. He wondered what else he could get Malfoy to reveal to him of his personal life, and then immediately reprimanded himself for caring at all. Malfoy wasn’t somebody Harry could ever afford to care about. He was quite skilled at manipulating others, and he had bullied Harry and his friends for years. 

_ But he apologized.  _

The apology was another thing that hadn’t left Harry alone. Ever since Malfoy had said he was sorry to Ron and Hermione, Harry wondered if there was in fact more to the blonde-haired boy than what first met the eye. He hadn’t thought Malfoy was capable of feeling sorry for dropping a pin, much less severe bullying and insulting the people closest to Harry. 

“I’m going to find out for myself what exactly he deserves,” said Harry with finality. 

___________________

Over the past few days, Draco had distanced himself from his friends and Theo. He’d needed space to process the shitshow that was currently his life. He’d been condemned for a crime he hadn’t committed, and now had to spend every Thursday evening at detention with McGonagall. 

His appetite hadn’t been all too kind to him, either. He wondered if Blaise and Pansy still thought he had a choice. 

“I know you’re trying your best, but those three bites of pasta aren’t going to cut it,” said Pansy, breaking into his train of thought. “You need a whole meal.” 

Draco set his fork down none too gently and turned to face her, appetite instantly gone. 

“Last I checked, you didn’t have long, blonde hair or wed my father. Therefore, you do not have the authority to say such things to me.” 

Pansy’s eyes widened at his boldness. “I-I’m only trying to-” 

_ “Help. _ I know, you’ve told me fifteen times.” 

Pansy’s gaze flitted between him and her lap. Draco didn’t feel an iota of sympathy for the girl. She had been getting on his last nerve as of late. He knew it was to compensate for not being there before, but it was overwhelming for him and he didn’t know how to tell her to back off without coming across as an arse. 

“You know what would help? Letting me decide for myself how much food I consume.” 

“You aren’t fit to make that choice,” Pansy said quietly. “Because you starve yourself.” 

“She’s right,” said Blaise from across the table. He sat next to Theo, and Draco took a moment to look into Theo’s concerned brown eyes. Theo remained quiet. 

“Until you start eating more, your definition of ‘enough’ isn’t going to hold.” 

“What happened to not being concerned how much I put on my plate?” 

“That was before two days ago,” said Pansy. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing. You’re not fooling anybody, Draco.” 

“I wasn’t aware I had so many concerned spectators,” Draco spat. He knew the words were mean, but he couldn’t help it. Pent up anger broiled in his blood. 

Pansy looked crestfallen. 

“Draco, I don’t know how else to tell you we love you.” 

_ “Love _ me?” Draco echoed incredulously. “That’s quite a word, Pansy.” 

He looked at Blaise and Theo. Blaise maintained eye contact with him, but Theo’s gaze had moved down to his plate. Draco noticed Theo fidget with his fingers, a nervous habit of his. 

“We do. That’s why we’re trying to get you to eat more. You realize that, right?” 

Draco nodded, somewhat numbly. 

“So can you do that for me?” Pansy asked gently. 

Draco  _ hated _ how all eyes were on him, how they noticed how little came off his plate that wasn’t that full to begin with, but most of all he hated how Pansy thought that just because she had apologized and comforted him about Finnegan and Thomas and Finch-Fletchley that everything was completely back to normal between them. 

Draco glared icy daggers at her before turning back toward his plate. The food smelled nauseating, and his full stomach rumbled in protest. But he used his fork to take a bite of pasta, anyway, wincing internally as he swallowed the buttered noodles down. He didn’t care that the dish was saturated with calories, he  _ didn’t _ , and he just simply was not hungry. 

“Better to just listen to her mate, let her get it all out,” said Greg in a somewhat soothing tone from his right. Draco looked up at the others across from him. Theo wore an indiscernible expression. Blaise politely paid him no mind, true to his word. 

“This is just going swimmingly,” Draco said venomously. “Never been happier to eat in my life. Thanks, Pans. I think you cured me.” 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “No need to be facetious, Draco.” 

_ “Mmm,” _ Draco said for extra effect as he ate another bite, while keeping his gaze on her hard and cold. “This is so good. I’m enjoying this so much right now.” 

“Draco, stop. Please.” 

“No, you wanted me to eat, so why shouldn’t I share how much pleasure I’m getting out of the experience?” Draco asked her. 

“You aren’t funny.” 

“Not trying to be.” 

They both stared at each other with equal vice and contempt. Draco won. 

“Okay, fine, I’m sorry! I won’t comment on your eating anymore, there, are you happy?” 

“Typically when someone ends a question with ‘are you happy,’ they don’t want the other person to be happy.” 

“Oh, Draco, you’re impossible!” Pansy threw her napkin onto her food and stood up. “I’ll catch you guys later. I’ve had enough.” 

Draco sneered at her. “Can dish it out, but can’t take it, can you, Pansy?” 

Pansy in response scrunched her face at him in disgust. “That’s how you want to play it? How much longer do you plan on keeping me on probation?” 

“Hmm, however long I see fit.” 

Her face slipped, revealing something akin to hurt, but before Draco could investigate further she had spun around and was gone. 

“Do you guys always have to argue? At every meal?” Blaise asked him, irritated. 

“She starts it.” 

“You make it worse.” 

“If my eating habits make any of you uncomfortable, then you’re welcome to find another place to sit,” said Draco, somewhat unsteadily. 

Theo’s expression softened. “Draco, that’s not . . . We aren’t . . . That isn’t it, at all.” 

“Then what is it?” 

“Do you really think that’s what bugs us? That we’re  _ uncomfortable?” _

“I mean . . . Yes.” 

Theo sighed, running a hand through his silky brown hair. Normally Draco would see the table as a barrier between them, but tonight he was thankful for the distance. 

“We just want to see you get better, and I mean really better.” 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“It isn’t wandless magic, either,” said Theo, but looked as though he regretted the words as soon as they came out. 

Draco felt his heart fall a little, that his boyfriend could so easily diminish the effort he’d put into getting better. 

“Mate, what he’s trying to say is that we want you to get better for  _ you _ . Not for us,” said Blaise. 

“I-I am doing it for me.” 

Greg cleared his throat. “Guys, I’m gonna go. I’ve got a lot of homework to do.” The excuse was feeble. Greg wasn’t good at school. But who was Draco to question him? Maybe he was turning over a new leaf. 

Once Greg was safely out of earshot, Draco pushed his plate away and put his elbows on the table. “Yeah, Greg wasn’t uncomfortable at  _ all.” _

“Draco, don’t let that . . . You know how Greg is,” Theo said. “He doesn’t do drama.” 

“So my disorder is drama now?” 

“No!” 

“Sure sounds like it.” 

“That’s because you aren’t  _ listening-” _

“No, I think I’ve heard enough.” 

Draco, feeling nauseated, rose from the bench. “I’ll see you later.” 

Theo frowned. “Wait-” 

“Don’t wait up.” 

“Draco!” 

Draco ignored him, tightening his grip on his messenger bag as he left the Great Hall. 

____________________

Draco had retired early, and was not at all surprised when Theo followed him up to their room. He had just climbed into bed, settled in for the night, exhausted, when Theo’s footsteps caused him to look up at the taller man. 

“Draco? Can we talk?” 

Theo stood in the doorframe, as if Draco’s denial to his request would deny him entry to his own room. 

Draco considered. Sleep was pulling at him, coaxing him to lie down and close his eyes. But on the other hand, he and Theo were in a relationship. He clearly had things he wanted to say, and if Draco denied him now he’d only have to hear about it later. May as well get it over with. 

“Sure.” 

Theo practically sagged with relief, and took that as permission to fully enter the room. He slowly approached Draco’s bed. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the sheets. 

Draco nodded, scooting over. 

Theo sat down and extended his hand out for Draco to take. 

Draco didn’t take it. 

Theo didn’t mention anything of it. Instead, he pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. “I didn’t like how sour things ended between us at dinner.” 

“Pansy has a talent of turning everything sour.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“I don’t. I hate her.” 

“You don’t mean that, either.” 

A moment of silence, and then, “I’m sorry, Draco.” 

Draco yawned, feeling drained as the energy was rapidly sapped from his body. 

“Merlin, you’re exhausted,” said Theo, fidgeting with his fingers again. “I should-”

“No, it’s alright,” said Draco, too tired to argue with Theo about why getting better did, in fact, feel very similar to attempting wandless magic. 

“Please don’t do that. You have a right to be upset with me.” 

Draco’s eyes fluttered. “‘M tired. Too tired to argue.” 

Theo’s eyes softened. “I was out of line, and I’m sorry.” 

“I forgive you. You all are probably sick of seeing me starve myself for no apparent reason. I get it.” 

“Draco . . .” 

“I guess I just didn’t realize how hard it would actually be watching all of you watch me fail to get better.” 

“You’re not failing, please don’t say that about yourself, you’re doing anything but failing. Draco, you’re so strong you have no idea.” 

“T-Then why can’t I eat?” The question came out wobbly, vulnerable. 

Draco felt a hand rub ever so softly up and down his arm. 

“You can, and you will. It takes time. You’re doing so well, and I don’t want you to listen to Pansy. She’s overcompensating for your guys’ argument because she feels bad.” 

“How can I not listen to her?” Draco asked brokenly, sitting up slightly in bed. “She’s right.” 

Theo sighed. Draco knew that he couldn’t deny it; it was true. 

“Just because she’s right doesn’t give her the license to inflict force onto you like that. She should know you better, know that’s not how you operate.” 

“I don’t think that’s how  _ anybody _ operates.” 

“Just . . . Don’t take it too much to heart. She cares. So much,” said Theo. The rubbing on his arm continued. His light scratches tickled Draco. “When she found out you weren’t eating, she was devastated. And I wasn’t even there; she told me, and I believed her.” 

“I know she cares,” said Draco. “I just don’t appreciate her putting me on the spot like that at the table. It’s crass.” 

“She’s impatient. And wants you back very badly.” 

“She needs to cope because I don’t anticipate that happening right now. Especially not if she keeps this up.” 

“You’re hurting her.” 

Draco felt his chest constrict. “I’m not-” 

“I understand you’re upset about what happened,” said Theo. “It wasn’t fair on you at all. But how much longer are you going to keep her dangling on like this?” 

“I’m not keeping her ‘dangled on’ anything,” said Draco. “I’m just not ready to trust her fully again.” 

“Why not? She’s expressed to you that she regrets what she did.” 

“I know, but-” 

“How can you expect her to prove herself if you don’t even give her the chance?” 

Draco frowned, shrinking into the bed. Theo’s gentle rubbing of his arm suddenly felt like an insect crawling up him. He pulled his arm back. At Theo’s questioning expression, he spoke quickly. 

“Because I’m afraid to give her the chance to prove herself, because that means she has free reign to hurt me again.” 

The words had taken more effort out of Draco than he’d expected. He exhaled heavily, eyes fluttering again. Sleep was so urgently calling his name. 

“Oh, Draco, you have no idea . . . She feels as though she’s walking on a landmine around you. Hurting you is the last thing on her mind, I can promise you that.” 

Draco sighed, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. Theo’s silhouette swam in and out of focus. 

“You look ready for bed. I’ll let you sleep now. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I acted tonight, and I want you to know that your efforts aren’t going unnoticed.” 

Draco nodded, feeling content and sated and warm, especially now that he and Theo had made up. He hated when they fought. 

Theo stood up from the bed. Draco’s body shifted with the slight bounce of the mattress. Standing over Draco, Theo ran a gentle hand through his blonde hair. 

“Goodnight, Draco. Sleep well.” 

Draco’s eyes fluttered closed. He felt a kiss pressed against his forehead, lips lingering for a moment. Then Theo was gone, and Draco was asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback means everything to me, thank you so much for reading and I'll see you on the next one  
> -A


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